Posted 19 May 2013 - 05:35 PM
A pale, freckled boy sits surrounded by supporting family and school friends in an American-themed diner, all of whom are wearing multi-coloured paper party hats. The boy grins ear to ear as he leans forward to blow the candles of a two-layer cake out, when a strawberry blonde haired girl in a skin tight black dress barges past multiple party-goers with an unlit cigarette pinched between her full, supple lips. She places her cracked palms on the scrunched, ketchup stained napkins a top the oak table and leans in, letting the tip of her cigarette touch a single flame from one of the wax candles, then proceeds to take a long, hard drag, closing her eyes in bliss as the rich smoke hits her lungs. Parents stop clapping, and the kids' faces turn a similar shade to that of the cake.
"Oh, real classy," Evan scoffs, folding his black suit jacket across his left arm, reaching between the group of party-goers with the other, tightly gripping a hold of Rebecca's tricep and yanking her from the group. "You can't even smoke in here," he states, lowering his tone and checking to make sure middle-management has yet to see the scene transpire.
"What the f*ck is it with you," she starts, simultaneously pulling her arm away from Evan's grip and taking the cigarette from between her lips, raising her voice, "and putting your f*ckin' hands all over me?!"
Drawing the attention of many restaurant-goers, Evan quickly shuffles her in to the nearest booth. Rebecca drops the cigarette and stamps it out with her heel, then slips in to the dark leather cushion, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes as she straightens her hair out.
"All right, little girl," Evan downsizes her with a harsh tone immediately as he keeps his eyes on the many families enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon lunch before easing down in to the cushion opposite her. "You've got information I need," he says, now with what feels like a sense of urgency and desperation. Placing his forearms a top the oak table, he clears his throat.
"Welcome to Shake-Aways! My name's Amy, I'll be your server today," the all-too-peppy waitress starts before even fully reaching their table. Upon arrival, she's instantly dismissed with a wave of Evan's hand, who is yet to break eye contact with Rebecca.
"I was pretty hungry, actually," Rebecca refutes, staring up at the waitress who smiles, preparing her pen and notepad.
"If this is a date," Amy starts, brushing the brow of her chestnut hair out of her face with the ball of her pen, "then I sure hope--"
"Does this look like a date?" Evan snaps back, now making eye contact with the waitress, who quickly hushes. "I just buried my best friend, so take your pep," he motions to the 'staff-only' door with his hand, "and go get us a couple of waters, okay, Amy?"
Silence befalls the trio for a moment as the waitress gently taps her pen on the blank notepad. "Two waters, comin' up," she murmurs.
Evan watches her leave, then turns his attention back to Rebecca as a ray of sunshine comes through the slanted blinds, causing him to shield his eyes with one hand. "Now, who was after you on that night at the club?"
As Rebecca opens her mouth to speak, she's halted by the sound of Evan's phone vibrating. Her crystal clear eyes focus on his finger, giving off the universal sign to hold on.
Evan arches his back in to the cool leather exterior and digs deep in to his suit pants' pocket, withdrawing his Blackberry and tapping the answer button. "Little busy, mate," he says, trying to unslant the blinds with his free hand.
"Free yourself up, pronto," he hears through the sound of static and gunfire on the other end from Wayne Hallows.
Evan stops playing with the blinds; the harsh rays of sunshine beat down on his already golden hair as his face drains of all colour and emotion. Quickly, he slides out of the booth and stands up, turning his back on Rebecca and covering one ear with his free hand, blocking out the noise of a screaming child two booths over.
"We've been waiting for you for half an hour. The f*ckin' shipment," Wayne yells, pausing as more gunfire and screaming can be heard, "the f*ckin' shipment sat here too long -- it's being raided!"
"I'm on my way," Evan assures him, hanging up and turning back to face Rebecca. Opening his mouth, about to tell her that he'd be back shortly, he finds the booth empty. His sorrow-glazed cobalt eyes are drawn to the diner door they entered in from a moment ago, now wide open.
A black taxi skids to a halt outside of Wayne's Bar. Evan grabs a hold of the back seat and balances himself out, throwing a ball of crumpled up notes to the driver in the front. "Keep the change," he says, opening the door and stepping out as a light shower begins to pour from the sunny afternoon sky.
As the car quickly pulls away, Evan charges around the side of the club, withdrawing a 9mm. pistol from his waistband as he reaches the club's parking lot. Aiming, he turns the narrow corner, seeing Wayne stood beside a petite, green-haired female leaning against the back of a lorry's shutters.
"Well," Wayne starts, not looking at Evan, who's now slowed his pace to a crawl, "we got the shipment back..."
Wayne smirks, letting out a slight laugh as he shakes his head, pushing off of the metal grates. "...But Bobby's dead."
He paces past Evan, giving him a shoulder tap as he goes. "Nice going."
Evan lowers the gun by his side as rain drops fall to the soaked pavement below from his wet fringe. Sighing, he treads over the littered cigarette butts from club-goers the night before, unable to look at the woman, who's still resting against the shutters.
"Look, Trixie, I..." Evan chokes on his own words as a mixture of sweat and rain envelope his smooth face.
The woman shakes her head, folding her arms across her chest as she follows Wayne's lead.
Massaging the throbbing left side of his head with the rough grip of the pistol, he exhales hard, staring up at the sky. His train of thought is snapped by his phone vibrating once more. He rests against the shutters of the mule van and takes the phone from his pocket with his free hand, answering it.
"I can tell now's not the best time," Pete Auldrey starts on the other end of the line, "but can you get over here?"
Evan contemplates everything that's happened today as he listens to Pete breathing frantically. The burial, forgetting to collect the shipment, letting Rebecca go.
Pushing off the mule van's shutters, he walks towards his parked bike a few empty spaces over. "You've got five minutes."
Evan releases the throttle of his NRG900 and stops at the docks. The light shower has subsided for now, leaving the sky once again clear. The sound of open water and boats swaying side to side, held down by coiled rope, begin to ease Evan's racing train of thought. He rests back on the saddle and turns his attention to Pete, who's standing with a group of olive-skinned men in front of a warehouse.
"You all right over there, Pete?" Evan calls out, catching the attention of everyone in the group. He sees Pete nod and begin to wave him over. Evan steps off the bike and starts walking in their direction, shielding his eyes from the sunlight until he reaches the shade.
"I'm guessing you boys forgot about us, huh?" one of the olive-skinned men questions with a thick accent, now turning to face an approaching Evan.
Evan looks the man over, who's sporting a knee-length brown leather coat and matching aviator sunglasses. He looks back at a baffled Pete for direction, then back to the man in question as he arrives.
"Alvaro," the man states. "Alvaro Cortez. I was promised me and my men here would be picked up this morning."
Evan takes a step back. "No," he starts, looking at Pete, "you told me next week -- there's no way I could've done today. You know that." Evan raises his voice over the sound of water crashing against the wooden support beams from the raging ocean below.
"Hey," the man snaps, catching Evan's attention over the relentless waves. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, my friend. Do not disrespect me."
Evan and the man stand in silence above the harsh gales, glaring at one another.
Pete attempts to intervene and ease the tension. "Simple timing error, fellas," he declares, trying to sway the inevitable situation back in his favour.
Waving the entire group off, Evan laughs as he turns around, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, all right," he says, making his way back to the bike he arrived on. "Thanks for this, Pete. I really needed this right now."
Alvaro watches as Evan steps back on the bike and starts it up. "Who was that man?" he asks, removing his dark glasses as Evan begins to speed away.
"Evan Rivers," Pete nervously replies, staring in to the dead eyes of Alvaro Cortez -- one of which has been severely damaged and is void of any colour.
The man smiles, looking back at his group of men, giving them a sombre nod.