With a loud chime the door to the run down pawn shop closed behind Kenneth. The young Irishman paused bathed in the harsh neon glow of the open sign, quickly thumbing through the wad of bills he had earned hawking the jewelry he had filched earlier that day. With a smirk he stuffed the eight hundred pounds carelessly into the pocket of his long overcoat, amused by the thought of the surprise awaiting the wealthy actor who he had impersonated returning to his suite to find his baubles missing. Fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket he began to beat a steady rhythm on his palm as he straddled his motorcycle.<br/><br/>“Serves the bastard right.” Kenneth smiled as he plucked a fag from the pack. “Never leave home with sumthin’ ya canna live without, Da always said.” Cupping his hand in front of his mouth a bright green flame flickered into life, igniting the end of his cigarette. Taking a deep drag he let the acrid smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. Small concise rings floated lazily into the air as he twisted the key in the ignition. With a throaty roar the old bike kicked over and Kenneth spread his long coat out behind him before barreling off into the London night. Seeking bevies and beauties to spend his hard earned quid on.<br/>