Munna lied chest down beside a car and reached out to a half-eaten bun under it. He got up, pocketed the day's meal and wiped his greasy hands against his threadbare vest. Life on the streets had sucked out of him what the more privileged called 'childhood'.
Munna's average work day was no different than most kids around him: petty thefts, pick pocketing, gambling...the usual. In a year or two, serious career choices would have to be made: the local bootlegging ring or pimping, for instance.
Abandoned at birth and now twelve, Munna made his way to his spot near the garbage dump. On his way, he passed the pot-bellied constable Shankar who had roughed him up two days back for breaking into a fight with a fruit vendor who had captured his corner.
'Filthy bastards like you should be fed to vultures!' shouted Shankar, glaring at Munna.
Munna smiled and started to hum a sleazy Bollywood number. Shankar would not touch him till he paid his weekly dues for his spot.
Unless of course, he got a better offer.
Munna turned back and ran as fast as the thought that came to his mind. He grabbed a knife stuck on a ripe watermelon and slit the vendor's throat.
Shankar was a mere witness to the murder. He saw Munna as a new recruit to the city's largest contract killing business and a means to a fat commission.
Munna had just graduated elementary school.