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Collection of short stories, each prompted by a single word. Ratings and genres may vary. Generally rated T/PG-13-ish to be safe [I'm open to word suggestions, just comment or send me a message or something.]

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1. Skullduggery

Skul∙dug∙ger∙y [skuhl-duhg-uh-ree]
Noun
1. Dishonorable proceedings; mean dishonesty or trickery.
2. An instance of dishonest or deceitful behavior; trick.
(Dictionary.com)

Jack stepped out of the mens' washroom fixing the velvet black bowtie that was cutting off his breathing. He hated the things. He hated anything going around his neck, really. Ties, necklaces, bowties, scarves, you name it he'd hate it.

When he managed to adjust the dang thing to a somewhat tolerable tightness, he fixed his blond locks and straightened out his uniform; black vest over a white button down and black dress pants.

Finally prim and proper, he exited the restaurant and went over to the valet parking podium. Stood there was a woman some ten years older than his would-have-been-somewhat-fresh-out-of-high-school-had-he-not-dropped-out 19 in the feminine version of the uniform; black pencil skirt to the knees, white blouse, and black vest. They didn't have to wear a bowtie.

"You must be the new boy Jack," the woman said to him once he reached her.

Jack simply nodded, seeing no need in adding pointless words to confirm her assumption.

She sighed, "Great, I'm dead beat and really need to go to the bathroom. I assume you already had your test day?" Jack nodded again and she continued, "Then you can handle parking on your own."

She didn't give Jack time to nod a third time before walking past him and into the busy restaurant.

No sooner had she gone did a sleek navy blue 2013 SLK-Class Roadster drive up to Jack and a well-dressed man in a tailored suite that matched his car stepped out. He was followed by a woman in a complimentary dark blue sequined dress, long black curls styled in ringlets down to her bare faux sun-kissed shoulders.

The man tossed his keys in Jack's general direction, fixing his windswept coffee colored hair.

"Don't put a scratch on it," the man said. "That car costs more than you'll ever make in several lifetimes."

The woman giggled in a manner that Jack figured she thought was flirtatious and hooked her arm around the man's.

Jack's eye twitched at the man's arrogance. He deduced that the man was one of those rich, silver spoon-fed babies, living off of old money and never having experienced the troubles of the working class. The woman was probably his flavor of the night judging by the way he barely acknowledged her.

"Of course, sir," Jack replied with a forced smile that spoke of pleasantness. He bowed shortly as the man with flawless features – courtesy of make-up and a personal stylist – and his entertainment for the night strutted into the restaurant.

Jack slid into the car, reveling in the comfort of the leather upholstery and turned the car on. He strapped on the seat belt and drove the Roadster out of the driveway of the restaurant and towards the valet parking area behind the restaurant.

He drove right past it and kept on driving, grinning broadly and singing along to the song on the radio.

When he hit traffic, Jack ripped off the itchy wig and let his natural black hair fall free. He took out the brown colored contacts and threw the insufferable bowtie to the back of the now stolen car.

Jack pulled out his phone and dialed the number seven, putting the device to his ear as the traffic began to move once again.

"You got a car?" came a female voice after three rings.

"Hey, Tom, how are you? Hello, Arianna, I'm doing great, thanks, what about you?" Jack – well actually Tom since that was his real name – replied.

The woman on the other line, Arianna, sighed and Tom knew she was rolling her eyes at him, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Tony."

"It was Jack this time," he corrected. "But yes, I do have a car. The owner was a total prick by the way. I wish I could see his expression when he finds out his car got swiped. This baby'll fetch us quite the price."

That piqued Arianna's interest. "What is she?"

"Mercedes Benz 2013 SLK-Class Roadster. Navy blue with not a scratch on her."

Arianne whistled lowly, "Hot damn. We're gonna get so much for her."

Tom nodded out of habit, "Yep. I'm about thirty minutes away. Mind having my clothes ready? This uniform has got to be one of the most uncomfortable things ever, along with the make-up. My face has been feeling weird as heck since I put the shit on."

Arianna laughed, "Not my problem, Tom. I'll have your usual clothes ready. But keep the uniform, you looked classy."

"Whatever. See you in a few."

"Bye."

Tom tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and turned the radio back up, resuming his off-key singing for the remainder of the ride. He had another successful infiltration into the ranks of valet parking to check off his resume as a teenaged car thief.

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