F3 Nimble Fingers

     "So, you want into the racket, eh. Live life out here on the streets, huh?" I put a fresh toothpick between my teeth.
     The kid in front of me nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I'm tough. I can do this. I get right in people's faces. I got no problem staring a guy down with a gun or a knife."

     "What the?" I pulled the toothpick out, and flicked it at him. "S'matter with you? We ain't mugging people. We don't hold 'em up on the street. You start doing that, it's only a matter of time before the cops get you, someone pull's a piece, or you end up with mace or taser in the face. Not to mention all the jerks what know Kung Fu and what. You wanna play that game, you go on. I'll be sure to send ya a toothbrush when you make it to the pen." I jerked my thumb for him to leave.
     "N-no. I just thought—"
     "But you wasn't thinking, kid. That's what this game takes, is brains. Brains and nimble fingers." I hopped off my seat, and threw an arm around the guy steering him to the bar. "Let's have a drink, and I'll show you the ropes. Take you under my wing." I shook his shoulders.
     At the bar, I signaled for two beers, and pulled bills from the kid's wallet to pay for them.
     "Wait, how did you?" He picked the wallet up.
     "Like I said, nimble fingers." I waggled them in front of his face.