Shelby was the but of many a joke but nothing had ever been serious enough to really irritate him yet now he was stood outside of the headteacher’s office waiting for a proper kicking and quite likely a suspension. He seemed at peace with the situation looking at the various notices on the board in front of him. It had all kicked off about an hour before when Tracy a girl in his class had intentionally poured a drink over his head.
He sat for a moment as the rest of the class began to laugh, he exhaled glanced around his desk and seemed to settle on the hardback textbook he’d been reading to pass the time until the teacher arrived. Calmly picking up the book he, stood, turned, and seemingly out of nowhere smashed Tracy so hard in the face with it that she fell back over the desk she was in front of.
“Next time, I’ll fucking kill you.” He’d said, venom, hate and, a terrifying certainty in his tone of voice. Nobody said anything, even the girl, nose and mouth bleeding was mute.
Sometimes something happens and everyone present realizes that from that moment everything had changed. When the headteacher called him in and went on his tirade Shelby stared into the mid-distance dismissively answering when required. However when told he should think deeply and beg for forgiveness Shelby simply said “No.” That didn’t seem to go down well, but Shelby didn’t care, as he’d said later “if the dumb cunt can’t understand then fuck him”.
Fights became more common after that, and he found that a good vicious brawl was about as much fun as solving a complex technical problem a group of outcasts and misfits forming around him. By the time he left college, with excellent qualifications but a terrible reputation for discipline he decided that a trade in some form of crime and definitely extreme violence was probably what he needed so he joined a mercenary outfit operating in the corporate war in Eastern Europe where his box of skills blossomed.
Now returning to London he was ready for a new black book career.