This is a story that's been percolating for awhile.
THE BLACK CARD
Peter Loftus prided himself on his street smarts.
He wasn’t too worried when he saw the roving gang of teens ghosting toward him.
Gangs of percenters were always roaming the area, looking for stray onesies they could prey upon, and Peter had taken pains to disguise himself as one of the 99.
Clocking their movements was just a matter of situational awareness, not paranoia and Peter didn’t even break his stride.
Peter was sure the wildlings would pass him by. There was nothing about his demeanor or dress that broadcast his wealth or status.
Still, Peter was glad he was wearing the money belt with the slotted buckle that was large enough to hide his American Express Centurion card. He normally didn’t carry it, but he’d been unable to complete his business online and had had to take the risk of going out on the street with the black card in his possession.
He’d learned from experience that taking the armor-plated Mercedes into the city only invited unwelcome attention. After two attempted carjackings, one that had resulted in the death of his driver, Peter began doing things the old-fashioned way, keeping his head down and going undercover as one of the rabble.
His disguise was flawless, a filthy raincoat over a faded t-shirt worn with jeans that were faded white at the seams and worn thin in the knees. His shoes were unpolished, their heels worn down, the toes scuffed and the leather sides thin and discolored. He’d bought the shoes online from a local Goodwill store and then had them specially sanitized.
