Red topped up the glasses again from the bottle of rum and sat back with a sigh.
“Take today, for instance,” he said. “I was egging on the young bastard to steal that watermelon, but my heart wasn’t really in it.”
“I know what you mean,” said Whitey. “I was urging him to resist the temptation, appealing to his better instincts, but I couldn’t really give a shit anymore.”
He poured them both another drink and they sipped at the rum contemplatively.
“You know what,” said Whitey. “I really wanted a job with your lot. Red suits me. But I couldn’t go against family tradition – we’ve always been goody-goodies. I enjoyed it at first too. Those little victories for good over evil really gave me a buzz. I knew that right was on my side, and if I could talk some lout out of mugging an old lady, I went home happy.”
Red drained his glass and topped them up.
“That’s funny,” he said. “I always wanted to be on the side of the angels but there weren’t any openings at the time, so I went to the devil. Bloody brilliant it was at first. You can’t imagine the kick I got out of seeing those old ladies bashed on the head, and having their pension money stolen, all from a little word in the ear from yours truly. God, those were the days. Always plenty of overtime as well. Now I feel almost redundant. Ah, I dunno…let’s have another drink.”
“I shouldn’t really,” said Whitey. “Gotta be up early. I’m rushed off my feet these days. The whole place is going to hell in a handcart and I suppose I ought to be grateful for the opportunity, but I just can’t seem to muster up the enthusiasm.”
“Have another one then,” said Red.
“No, I’d better not.”
“Go on, it’ll do you good.”
“Just one more.”