Raven/Steven
Red
Gunboat Park was kind of a weird part of town. At one point it had been a neighborhood of big houses for people getting rich from the railroads and the oil fields, but that money had dried up half a century ago and when development came back to the city the hot neighborhoods were further west. Over the years money had trickled back in but it was still not the greatest part of town.
There were some medium-rise office buildings a couple blocks north and a giant church a couple blocks west, a residential neighborhood to the east on the other side of 75, and nothing but scrub to the south. But the Park was pretty much an industrial area fighting the siren song of redevelopment- warehouse space, auto-body shops, tattoo parlors, a CrossFit, a Save-a-Lot, a Home Depot, a couple of small restaurants and coffee shops- including, surprisingly, Tulsa's best taqueria, and Red.
Red had at one point been a mail sorting facility, before the Postal Service had closed it down. But then Red- the owner, not the place- had bought the building and converted the space into a bar and concert venue. It wasn't the biggest or best concert venue in Tulsa, but it could hold over a thousand people standing in any of three spaces of varying size, and did decent business most nights of the week.
The Unkindness had enough of a following that they'd gotten a solid number of fans and curious music lovers in Red's main room, but the concert that had started at 10 had been over for at least an hour and the place was slowly cycling down. Staff was starting to trickle out as they finished up, the managers were going around doing their final check-ins, and security was escorting people out to their cars and checking nooks and crannies for people who had partied too hard.
People like the Unkindness, who were still in their dressing room and mostly drunk. It was in their contract that they were supposed to be out by 2 am, which was quickly approaching, but they did not seem ready to leave.
There was a crash from inside as Sticks threw an almost empty bottle at the wall behind Raven. "You @$$hole! You brought us to g+@@~&n Tulsa to tell us you were f-ckin' leaving the band!? I'll f-ckin' kill you!"
Doug grabbed him before he could rush Raven. "Calm down, dude. He'll f-ck you up." While he sounded calm, he looked just as pissed as Sticks.
Shadow just sat on the couch, smirking, and took another pull from his beer. "I told you guys he was getting a big head after all that sh-t. F-ck him. Let him go. You can sing, Doug. We don't need his freak @$$."
Jane
Save-a-Lot
Gunboat Park was kind of a weird part of town. At one point it had been a neighborhood of big houses for people getting rich from the railroads and the oil fields, but that money had dried up half a century ago and when development came back to the city the hot neighborhoods were further west. Over the years money had trickled back in but it was still not the greatest part of town.
There were some medium-rise office buildings a couple blocks north and a giant church a couple blocks west, a residential neighborhood to the east on the other side of 75, and nothing but scrub to the south. But the Park was pretty much an industrial area fighting the siren song of redevelopment- warehouse space, auto-body shops, tattoo parlors, a CrossFit, a Home Depot, a couple of small restaurants and coffee shops- including, surprisingly, Tulsa's best taqueria, a concert venue, and the Save-a-Lot.
Save-a-Lot was open 24 hours, though this late at night there was only 1 manned register open to accompany the 4 self-checkout registers. There weren't any actual customers at the moment to use them, though. Mr. Patterman was in back supervising the off-loading of a couple of deliveries, going on a solid 21 hours at the store and only here this late because the night manager had called out sick. Edwards was overseeing the stockers as well as everybody else up front and greatly enjoying his temporary status.
Edwards got on the PA. "Speer, there's a loose cart out at the far end of the parking lot." He didn't even bother telling her to go get it, just assumed his meaning was clear.
Brad
El Azteca
Gunboat Park was kind of a weird part of town. At one point it had been a neighborhood of big houses for people getting rich from the railroads and the oil fields, but that money had dried up half a century ago and when development came back to the city the hot neighborhoods were further west. Over the years money had trickled back in but it was still not the greatest part of town.
There were some medium-rise office buildings a couple blocks north and a giant church a couple blocks west, a residential neighborhood to the east on the other side of 75, and nothing but scrub to the south. But the Park was pretty much an industrial area fighting the siren song of redevelopment- warehouse space, auto-body shops, tattoo parlors, a CrossFit, a Save-a-Lot, a Home Depot, a couple of small restaurants and coffee shops, a concert venue, and El Azteca, Tulsa's best taqueria. The place wasn't open 24 hours, technically, but they were open for lunch, dinner, and for the after-concert crowd, so they might as well be.
It was a good meet location for several reasons- the fact that it was busy even late at night, in a part of town with several options for escape- side streets in every direction, 75 and 51 for the highway option, and open, empty land to scramble through to the south to the far side of 51- and both had no security cameras and had no neighboring businesses with security cameras. There was a small parking lot and a small, wooded area- not quite enough to be worthy of the term 'park'- nearby, and customers could either sit and eat or take away from the walk-up counter up front.
Bruce had assured Brad the guy he was meeting with was on the up-and-up, but Brad knew Bruce well enough to know that the sketchy lawyer's entire vetting process involved making sure his check cleared. The man- in a nondescript jacket despite the warm night, baseball cap and sunglasses this late at night, all of which practically screamed "I'm doing something suspicious!"- was nervously eating chips as Brad digested his story.
Supposedly his soon-to-be ex-wife and business partner was trying to screw him over and he suspected her of embezzling money and hiding assets. Brad suspected she didn't know she was soon-to-be an ex-wife and the client was setting her up, using him to justify taking the whole business and maybe even getting her thrown in jail. It was far from the most convoluted plan Brad had ever heard.
"So, you can get into her bank records, right? I mean, the secret ones she doesn't want me to know about. If there are any, I mean."
"Red, sir, do you want us to get hold of a couple of taxis and send the band to their hotel? Perhaps send that lead singer of theirs to a separate hotel? It doesn't sound like he's any too popular at the moment.. And I assume you'd rather not have any incidents?"
Can't say the band was to my liking earlier, but they impressed the crowd and for the most part, bare the odd drunk or two, the crowd had behaved. Even so it'd been a long evening and all I really wanted was to go home, grab one of the import beers, throw myself on the bed and watch a bit of telly before falling asleep... But it seems Fate had a different plan for me tonight. Guess the night's still young.
Jane slumped a bit. Captain Ego had been at it all night. Seriously, Edwards had enough ego-power to almost qualify for Nova status. Sadly, it took a bit more than that to actually BE one.
First had been the cleaning of the restroom when some drunken person -- at least, that's what folks presumed, probably from Red -- had made a mess of things.
Then there was the constant paging over the PA after she'd gone to break. If she didn't need the job and the low-key location, she would have helped the guy shove his head somewhere very uncomfortable. And she wasn't a violent person.
Be cool. Take a deep breath. Remember, this is an escape. This is much better than what you were doing before. Relax. This had become an increasingly common mantra of late, given how the supervisor had been riding her ass.
Putting on the OHSHA-mandated bright yellow and orange vest, she ventured outside, forcing herself to walk slow towards the indicated cart, even if it made El Jefe ten kinds of pissed off. Because going at 'normal' speed would be a dead give-away, even though she wasn't a speedster.
Just a few more hours and then tonight will be over. Just a few more hours. Hopefully won't get called in tomorrow. That'd suck after an overnight... Not that it really would suck, she was the freakin' Energizer bunny when it came to pulling hours but it'd involve faking like she was exhausted. And that was harder to do than it sounds.
"I could mess with your emotions, but I am not going to. I just need a break. I couldn't take the jealousy any more. It has nothing to do with ego, I am just tired of the fighting. As for why here, a dart on a map decided it. Maybe in about six months we can talk again, we'll see. Quit your yelling, I understand why your mad, but drop it."
I walk out of the bar.
Seeing the lead singer leave the back room, I nodded to the rest of the security guys to show that I'd take this one, and they could keep an eye on the rest of the bans.
"Raven? Excuse me sir, but if you'd follow me, we've arranged for me to take you to your hotel by taxi. I assume, given the reaction of the rest of the band, that you've arranged for separate accommodation?"
"What's your name?"
Pause for the the answer.
"Of course I did. I was expecting a blow up. I already had my stuff moved to . So, what's entertaining in this town? Out of curiosity, how much of the argument did you hear?
I am trying to gauge if he heard that I am a nova.
"James, the name's James.
And to answer your questions in reverse:
Not much to be honest. Mostly just a lot of swearing at you. And beyond that. Nothing important, even if there had been I'm good a keeping secrets. Part of the job and all that.
As for entertainment, well depends on what you're looking for really. I'm new here myself, so haven't checked it out much, though I did pick up a tourist brochure.
Seems like there's a lot of arts stuff. But if you want something right here and now, there's only really 4 things to do: Gambling at a casino, gentlemen's club, eating or drinking. Or any combination of the above I suppose."
"Thanks, but no, not now. I wouldn't be in a good enough mood to go out. I just want to vegetate for a while."
Well, there's Tulsa best taqueria just nearby. They should still be open. Great tacos, and they serve beer there too.
They sometimes show some of the sports news there as well, I think there was a boxing match on tonight.
How's that sound?"
"Sounds good. I'll buy."
If James is being friendly, I might as well take him up on it. I have a feeling I'm going to need a friend.
"Sounds good to me. If you're buying I recommend the Triple Volcano on their menu. I like 'em spicy and that one's got enough spice and meat in it to last a week."
It'll also give you hairs on your eyeballs, but he'll figure that one out from the name. If not, we'll there's beer to chase it down with.
I open the door of the taxi for Raven, and wait for him to get in.
To the Taxi driver: "To the taqueria my good man and step on it, we're hungry and thirsty."
Jane made her way outside to retrieve the wayward cart, deftly avoiding two shady folks lingering by the post chain-smoking some cheap cigarettes.
That's the standard clientele for the Save-A-Lot at this time of night, and she wasn't going to make waves or get hit for 'poor customer service'.
As she makes her meandering pace along, she keeps an eye out for other carts, so she can't be accused of being too literal, and aside from which, outside is away from the PA (if not the cameras). So a few moments of blessed quiet is just what the doctor ordered.
Brad arrived ahead of schedule; that was just polite.
The occasion called for Jerry Klein's preferred wardrobe: a Cowboys jersey over black Underarmour, a pair of tight jeans, and cowboy boots. He skipped shaving in the morning so he'd look scruffier. He mussed his hair before leaving his car a few blocks away. Brad could be anybody, except for the shades he had to wear until he could figure out a good way to get the contacts he needed. If anyone asked, he'd tell them he was hung over or act high. Place was too crowded for him to risk the legally blind act unless he had the client lead him in and out, the first half of which Brad couldn't do and the second he wouldn't. He didn't like to get too close to clients in case someone had a knife or a bug.
Brad spent the time until the client arrived pretending to read on his phone while eating. The phone gave him the excuse to take his time, the eating reason to look up without looking like he had his eye on the door. But Brad could have spotted Mr. Obvious without staring. When the guy came out with his own tray, Brad called out to him like an old friend.
"Hey Pete, long time!" he said with a broad, friendly grin. Bruce said to call the guy Pete. Brad preferred clients not have any name for him, so to Pete he was just a guy who could help with some things.
After listening carefully to Pete's story, often nodding and making commiserating noises, Brad let him stew for a few moments.
"That's some problem you got there," Brad couldn't disguise his accent yet, but he'd worked on changing diction for these meetings. He spoke just loudly enough for Pete to hear him. "But relax. If she's got secrets, I can find 'em. If. I think you know-" he broke off as someone passed by a little too close, then waited a few beats before continuing. "...sorry. You know I can't promise what ain't there."
Bruce should have explained that all, but it didn't hurt to be sure.
"And I ain't a lawyer. That's someone else's department. I find what I find." Or what you want me to find. I can do that too, but it'll cost you more. Brad left the matter hanging, spreading his hands. If Pete took the hint, there'd be more in it for Brad. If not, he didn't walk out any worse off than he was before.
Jane
Save-a-Lot
As she makes her meandering pace along, she keeps an eye out for other carts, so she can't be accused of being too literal, and aside from which, outside is away from the PA (if not the cameras). So a few moments of blessed quiet is just what the doctor ordered.
The parking lot wasn't too big- this wasn't the Wal-Mart Superstore like down by the Woodland Hills mall- but Jane could still justifiably enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet as she made her way to the far end of the lot. And, par for the course, the cart turned out to be a battered Target cart with a broken wheel. Someone had clearly been using it to push their stuff around out on the street for a while and had just dumped it when the wheel broke.
Jane could hear that the music from Red had stopped. All the way over here it was just a bass thump felt in the chest and soles of the feet, but whoever had been playing tonight was clearly done. Their parking lot had mostly cleared out, too. She wasn't sure when that happened, but it was late enough that it could have been hours ago.
One of the last cars was pulling out into the street. Too slowly and carefully to belong to a sober person, the fifteen year old Honda took a left out of Red's lot to drive past the Save-a-Lot, meandering over the lane divider and pulling back, over the line and back. Even going under the speed limit like they were, it was an accident waiting to happen.
Brad
El Azteca
After listening carefully to Pete's story, often nodding and making commiserating noises, Brad let him stew for a few moments.
"That's some problem you got there," Brad couldn't disguise his accent yet, but he'd worked on changing diction for these meetings. He spoke just loudly enough for Pete to hear him. "But relax. If she's got secrets, I can find 'em. If. I think you know-" he broke off as someone passed by a little too close, then waited a few beats before continuing. "...sorry. You know I can't promise what ain't there."
Bruce should have explained that all, but it didn't hurt to be sure.
"And I ain't a lawyer. That's someone else's department. I find what I find." Or what you want me to find. I can do that too, but it'll cost you more. Brad left the matter hanging, spreading his hands. If Pete took the hint, there'd be more in it for Brad. If not, he didn't walk out any worse off than he was before.
"Pete" nodded slowly. He looked nervously around at the other tables, all but begging for people to look at him, and leaned across the table. He stage whispered "Uh, Bruce said you might, uh, be able to help me with that. Finding something... incriminating. I've got, uh, some stuff on a thumb drive that you could use as an, uh, example, of what you might be looking for." The client sat back up and raised his voice back to normal volume. "If there's anything to find, I mean. You know, I know there's got to, uh, be."
"And I'm, uh... Bruce didn't tell me exactly what your rates would be. I mean, I can pay, it's just... I was wondering." That's because Bruce paid Brad directly as a line item in his invoice. He liked to mark up Brad's costs depending on how much he could soak the client for. It was something he had never bothered to mention to Brad but Brad, of course, had figured out the scam right away. If there was one thing you could count on with Bruce, it was that he was going to try to make another buck for himself off whatever deal was on the table.
Steve/Raven
El Azteca
The driver turned and glared at Steve. "Close the door, ya drunk!" As soon as Steve's hand was off the door handle, he pulled away fast enough to jerk the door shut and took a right to disappear around the corner. It was rude but made a certain amount of sense- someone so drunk as to want a cab ride down the street was likely to throw up in said cab.
So Steve and Raven had to walk the half a block to El Azteca rather than driving. The sidewalk in front of the hole in the wall was flooded with the clashing colors of bright fluorescents under the awning and inside and the lurid green, red, and yellow neon decorating the roof and windows.
They could eat at either one of the few tables inside- it was crowded in there with post-show revelers, a few people who looked like they'd just gotten off shift with the cleaning crew at some office building, and a couple of guys chatting at a table. Or they could order at the window and cop a squat nearby or walk around. Though take-out meant no alcohol, and what was a taco without a cold beer or shot of tequila?
"So James, let's sit at a table. I've been standing enough tonight."
Jane pulled up as she saw the cart and let out a slumping sigh.
Really, Bill? Really? Are your eyes that bad that you can't see the BIG OL FREAKIN' TARGET LOGO?
She tried to figure out what to do with the offending disabled basket when opportunity knocked of a sort. That idiot is going to get someone killed. But I can't intervene directly, not with Captain Blow-Hard watching on the camera...
The shopping cart got another glance.
The cart-wrangler feigned extreme frustration (though it didn't take much) and shoved the cart to a potential destiny with the errant vehicle, to end up on the side where any people might be at so the presumed drunk would have to turn away from bystanders, hopefully enough to not crash but wake up and get the heck out of here.
She watched the course of the cart with concern, and started to chase after it until she reached the very edge of the sidewalk. While some might joke about not straying too far from there, her concern was not losing her job while lives were being saved and the attention partially moved away from her.
"Agreed there Raven."
"2 large beers please, and two of the biggest tacos you have. Been a long evening."
"Will you look at this idiot? Drink driving really ain't cool, even at this time of night. Don't know about you, but my cell's out of charge, so can't even call the cops on this moron's ass."
And even I can't run fast enough to catch that one, without someone noticing.
"Here," Raven flipped James a pre-paid phone, Raven kept he Droid in his pocket. "It's not the worst I've seen, but if you want to call, go ahead."
Raven took a drink from the mug.
This guy had to take lessons in being obvious. Much more of this and people will think we're on a date. Brad briefly wished he had the power to shoot someone with tranquilizers from two feet away.
"I can look at that for you," Brad said. "D'you got the thing right now?" More cash. Thanks, Pete.
If Pete didn't have the drive on him, Brad would let Bruce handle it. One meeting with a client was enough, unless it couldn't be helped. Either way standard security applied: clone the contents and isolate or destroy the original in case it has a transmitter inside. Then he could hand back the doctored files on a known clean stick. Complete with a copy of his anonymity virus. When Pete handed over the goods for the prosecution, Brad's little friend would get a fresh exposure to government computers.
Pete seemed too nervous to be a professional, so Brad probably didn't have to worry about handling a drive with a little transmitter inside, but he would anyway. There was an off chance that Pete was too professional to show. No going home once he got the stick until he knew it would behave itself. He should have brought along one of his Faraday cage envelopes, but this outfit had no good place to hide one.
"Far as the rest goes, no sense talking money between friends," Brad said with his best smile. "Our boy can sort that out."
Brad thought about offering a cash discount and arranging delivery himself. A dead drop would be easy enough for him to manage. But he didn't need money so badly that he wanted to cut Bruce out for a little extra and then loose him as a resource. Things worked better when they were each too useful to get rid of. It didn't make him feel truthful and morally straight, but Brad felt like that was honest enough with a guy like Bruce.
Jane
Save-a-lot
The cart-wrangler feigned extreme frustration (though it didn't take much) and shoved the cart to a potential destiny with the errant vehicle, to end up on the side where any people might be at so the presumed drunk would have to turn away from bystanders, hopefully enough to not crash but wake up and get the heck out of here.
She watched the course of the cart with concern, and started to chase after it until she reached the very edge of the sidewalk. While some might joke about not straying too far from there, her concern was not losing her job while lives were being saved and the attention partially moved away from her.
The deserted sidewalk in front of the store gave Jane more than enough room to first aim the cart and then watch its progress. None of the concert-goers had deigned to head on down to Save-a-lot, and the only real destination this late- early?- was closer to Red than the store, so it was just Jane and the drunk and anyone unlucky enough to be a passenger in their car.
Jane's push launched the battered cart out into the street like a funny car, broken wheel squeaking like mad. It certainly would have drawn eyes if there were any eyes to see, but there was nobody to take notice. It was almost a certainty that Edwards was watching her progress on the monitor inside, but the fish-eye camera up on the tall light pole had terrible resolution out near the edges of the lot where Jane was and the cameras watching the door might be able to make her out, but only just.
It took a couple of seconds for the driver to notice- more evidence of drunk driving- and when they did, they predictably overreacted. The old Honda swerved to the left and bounced up over the curb at twenty miles an hour with a hellacious bang and striking sparks off the car's undercarriage. The car bounced into the lot several car lengths away from Jane and came to a grinding, shuddering halt half in the parking lot and half on the sidewalk.
Brad
El Azteca
"I can look at that for you," Brad said. "D'you got the thing right now?" More cash. Thanks, Pete.
"Yeah, got it right here. You know, just as an, uh, example of what you might be looking for." "Pete" nodded and pulled out a nondescript thumb drive, which he put on the table and slid over to Brad like a spy passing along stolen plans in a movie.
"Far as the rest goes, no sense talking money between friends," Brad said with his best smile. "Our boy can sort that out."
The client nodded and even gave Brad a little smile. Brad was on his team. Everything was going to get taken care of. "Okay, yeah. Great, great." He looked nervously over his shoulder. "Can I...? I'm gonna take off, okay? I, uh, it was good to meet you. I'll talk to Bruce and everything." "Pete" was already halfway off his seat and looked ready to bolt out the door.
Steve/Raven
El Azteca
"2 large beers please, and two of the biggest tacos you have. Been a long evening."
The tired looking young man nodded at Steve and headed off to bring back their order. Steve saw an old Honda heading out of Red's parking lot, going well under the speed limit and navigating none too confidently.
"Will you look at this idiot? Drink driving really ain't cool, even at this time of night. Don't know about you, but my cell's out of charge, so can't even call the cops on this moron's ass."
The car drove out of sight past the restaurant, managing not to climb onto the curb or crash into anything while Steve could still see it.
While Steve was busy watching the clearly drunk driver, Raven noticed one of the men at another table- dressed in a light jacket in spite of the warm night, a hat, and sunglasses, clearly trying to escape notice and failing spectacularly- pass a thumb drive across the table to the other man.
Jane forced a smirk on her face when the cart took the course out of the lot and out of the collective misery of the Save-A-Lot. She started to turn to make a 'cleaning hands' motion when the car is a bit more energetic than she expected and then cowered a bit to sell the 'helpless associate in the path of uncontrolled vehicle'. Of course, to Edwards, it's probably her just slacking off at work.
Her normal gut reaction would have been to run, but that would have been a bit of a giveaway. And just walking away from such a scenario would be a very bad thing, because it would make it look like she somehow planned it. Well.. she did... but still..
And then the car came half-into the lot. Well, then. THAT requires a good samaritan to go see if the person's okay! She made a hand motion to the camera like picking up a phone as she frantically pointed to the crashed vehicle, and then ran to help the occupant. At the edges of the camera, her adrenaline pumping a little bit, it'd all be easily explained.
"Oh my GOD! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Cue the worried person who just had something well above her paygrade dumped into her lap as she hoped that her tyrannical supervisor did the intelligent thing and called 9-1-1.
Brad thought several unkind things as a terrible spy movie continued playing out opposite him at the table. He could not use this place again at least for several months, enough time for the staff and regulars to turn over or forget. And he couldn't come back dressed like this when he did. No sense stirring memories his first time back. Or his third. Next time, he'd come in wearing a Confederate flag t-shirt or something. Maybe more denim.
"Thanks a lot, bro," he said, grinning broadly and making it sound as sincere as he could.
Brad watched Pete leave, then casually slipped the drive into his pants pocket. Then he went back to his phone. He'd give it fifteen or twenty minutes so the whole thing looked a little less like a drug deal before taking off. Bad enough Pete put a spotlight on them. Worst Brad could do, short of introducing himself with his real name and telling his life's story, was to make it worse by bolting moments after the big hand off.
Either Pete was new at this, or Pete was very good. Brad let his fingers scroll through twitter and walked through everything he'd done and each risk he's taken since arriving in Tulsa. Everything looked as good as it had last time he ran through, just that morning. But what if it wasn't? The same options Brad though about every day around lunch:
Plan A: Burn the IDs and go off the grid for a few weeks while working up a new set.
Plan B: Hit the road. Nowhere on the path down from Maryland, but Brad would have lots of potential covers in Austin. New Orleans might be good. Miami? Los Angeles? San Jose? Seattle would work too. Maybe it was time to think about going international. Nowhere they were at war with. Brad would rather be caught than aid the enemy. Mexico? Easiest. How long would it really take to figure out Spanish? Japan? Brad would have to fly, or sneak on a ship and stay hidden.
Plan C: Steal a living. Hiding the cash would be a pain, but Brad could probably get Bruce to run it through the Caymans or the Swiss. There'd be a trail, at least for a few stops, but Brad could go somewhere and do an immediate cash withdrawal and deposit elsewhere. Ideally in another country. Carrying the cash would be a pain, but Brad could scatter it around in a few dozen trips and keep an emergency cache or ten somewhere. Then he could go totally off the grid.
And leave behind the kid depending on him. Brad really needed to talk to Bruce about safe ways to get Juan college cash if it came to that. Without telling Bruce about Juan.
Jane
Save-a-lot
And then the car came half-into the lot. Well, then. THAT requires a good samaritan to go see if the person's okay! She made a hand motion to the camera like picking up a phone as she frantically pointed to the crashed vehicle, and then ran to help the occupant. At the edges of the camera, her adrenaline pumping a little bit, it'd all be easily explained.
"Oh my GOD! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Cue the worried person who just had something well above her paygrade dumped into her lap as she hoped that her tyrannical supervisor did the intelligent thing and called 9-1-1.
The airbag had gone off and the glassy-eyed young woman behind the wheel was struggling to push it away from her as it deflated. "Oh MY GOD! There was, like, a stupid cart or something in the way!" She seemed fine, just stone drunk. And dressed in a shirt that someone else might use for a handkerchief and a skirt that looked more like a belt, but Jane wasn't the fashion police.
The man in the passenger seat- in ripped jeans and a black Pantera t-shirt- was not. There was blood on the side of his head, corresponding to the blood on the inside of his window, and vomit on his pants, boots, airbag, and floor. The girl- and at a second glance, she could probably still remember senior year homeroom- was drunk, but this guy looked like he'd had some sort of transfusion that replaced his blood with Jim Beam.
"Whu... whu... th' fuh..."
Brad
El Azteca
"Thanks a lot, bro," he said, grinning broadly and making it sound as sincere as he could.
"Pete" nodded quickly and made a beeline for the door, turning right, probably heading the the open-air lot next to the bar down the street.
The small restaurant was full of the usual late-night crowd, mostly people who had just gotten off-shift like the obvious security guy sitting with the rocker dude. A rocker dude whose amazing good looks marked him so clearly a nova that even just sitting there talking to the security guy he was getting looks from every woman and interested man in the place.
"Pete" nodded quickly and made a beeline for the door, turning right, probably heading the the open-air lot next to the bar down the street.
The small restaurant was full of the usual late-night crowd, mostly people who had just gotten off-shift like the obvious security guy sitting with the rocker dude. A rocker dude whose amazing good looks marked him so clearly a nova that even just sitting there talking to the security guy he was getting looks from every woman and interested man in the place.
Brad had to leave. Now. The last thing he needed was to be on a security camera with an obvious nova. An obvious hot nova. Brad's mind filled with wanton thoughts. Things he barely thought about doing with Calvin.
Exit strategies.
Teleport. He'd just be gone. No trouble, unless someone was looking right at him or he was on camera. Then he'd outed himself. Plus if he teleported while seated gravity would be waiting on the other end. Maybe if he aimed for his bed?
Invisibility. Same problems, but also he'd have to navigate the crowd unless he teleported in addition.
Just walk out. Easiest, but he'd still be visibly exiting right after looking at the nova. Still a risk.
Better idea.
Brad quietly counted out the money for his bill, added a few dollars for a tip, then reconsidered and added another dollar so he wouldn't be remembered as especially cheap. Then he forced himself to sit still for a moment, thinking about anything except the nova while he fiddled with his phone. It didn't get easier when he had his face down but kept glancing up at the nova on the edge of his vision.
Should be safe to stand up now. Brad stood and went for the bathroom as casually as he could. Easy enough to disappear inside a stall.
Interesting, the man Who just received the flashdrive, Is leaving after he looked at raven.
Jane looked at the drunk woman before heading over to the passenger's side. "Call 911!"
When she got there she attempted to determine what if anything she can do to help the guy until the police or paramedics arrive. And if Edwards was still watching her on the camera, he'll have seen what happened and will be his own version of hero.
"Mister, don't move. Just hold tight, okay? Help is on the way.
"Don't you ever get tired of all the attention Raven? Or, I suppose, being a rock star and all, you're used to it?"
Steven looked pointedly around the restaurant, indicating the interested men and women with a pair of raised eyebrows.
Brad/Raven/Steve
El Azteca
The guy getting up and going to the bathroom had played with his phone for a while after his friend left and he'd paid, so Raven had no reason to believe it had anything to do with him.
Brad, meanwhile, was in the bathroom. The restaurant was a tiny place, so it was just a room with a toilet and a sink and a very small window. He could lock the door and squeeze out the window, but then the door would still be locked and he'd have disappeared. Or he could try to go out the window without locking the door, but what if somebody came in?
Jane
Save-a-lot
Jane looked at the drunk woman before heading over to the passenger's side. "Call 911!"When she got there she attempted to determine what if anything she can do to help the guy until the police or paramedics arrive. And if Edwards was still watching her on the camera, he'll have seen what happened and will be his own version of hero.
The girl started fumbling around in between the front seats, presumably to get her purse and her phone. Given the general chaos and her level of inebriation, Jane gave her a 50-50 chance of completing the task of calling 911.
"Mister, don't move. Just hold tight, okay? Help is on the way.
Jane could see that the man had hit his head but couldn't tell how bad it was. She wasn't sure if it was his drunkenness or head trauma that had made him throw up and unable to respond coherently. The girl nodded at Jane again, but she was still scrambling to find whatever it was she was looking for.
Looking past the injured man, Jane saw what the girl was probably trying to find. Her purse had spilled open in the man's footwell and along with her phone and the few things that could fit in the little clutch was a tiny pouch of white powder. The girl was probably trying to grab it and get rid of it or hide it before the cops got there.
"Don't you ever get tired of all the attention Raven? Or, I suppose, being a rock star and all, you're used to it?"
Steven looked pointedly around the restaurant, indicating the interested men and women with a pair of raised eyebrows.
"You do get used to it. At first it is exciting. Later on it is expected. It can be annoying, if they don't take no for an answer, when your not in the mood."
"And here I was, thinking that rockstars were always in the mood."
With a smile Steven picked up his beer, saluted Raven and took a swig, idly considering ordering another round of Tacos. Even on the best of days, his appetite was still on Nova levels, rather than suppressed.
"So what do you think you'll be doing here in Tulsa? I imagine that you're not exactly planning on starting a new band, considering what happened here. And I'm thinking that you're not really one for construction or security work like myself?"
Yeah, nine times out of ten we are, but there always is the tenth time. I don't know yet, I have a enough money to live a while without performing, but I'll be bored to tears. That is when my life can become dangerous."
This was what Brad got for not using the bathroom in this place before. He added a new item to his list of things to do when scouting a site: check the latrine.
Options:
Climb out the window? And get caught halfway or seen going out.
Take the risk and walk out normally? More time on the cameras with a known nova.
Teleport anyway? Locked door would draw attention. Unlocking it might mean someone came in just as Brad was leaving and he'd be seen.
Why couldn't this place have a regular fast food john with a handicapped stall, a regular stall, and some urinals?
Brad decided that the least worst option had to be doing it the normal way. He spent a few moments puttering around, then flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and left the bathroom. He picked a course through the crowd that would take him directly to the nearest exit but not too close to the nova. Without looking like he was avoiding anyone.
Seriously? For the love of Christ, woman, you're going for your stash rather than taking care of this guy? That's REALLY going to win you points with the cops.
Jane would normally be all about the liberties of the individual. That was, in fact, part of the reason for the escape from the 'Nova life'. But this had shaped up to be one heckuvamess and she had no desire to raise her profile any higher than necessary.
She would have used her own phone, but it was in her locker because the Save-A-Lot had a strict policy on phone usage during work hours.
She carefully tossed the phone to the drunk woman and then turned her attention back to the other occupant.
"Okay, mister, you stay awake, okay? Help is on the way. It's going to be okay." Jane's workplace got another glance as she went about trying to help the more injured of the two crash victims. Damnit, Edwards, normally you'd be out riding my ass already, what is going on in there?
Yes, she repeated herself. It's as much to try and calm herself down and not do something stupidly dramatic and heroic like fly the guy to a hospital right now. Not if I can help it.
Brad/Raven/Steve
El Azteca
The guy who went into the bathroom came back out a reasonable amount of time later and left. Neither Raven nor Steve noticed anything out of the ordinary about him.
Brad was soon on the sidewalk. He didn't think anyone had taken any particular notice of him, but if they were really good he wouldn't have. Anyway, if they were really good they would have teammates outside and wouldn't immediately jump up and follow him out of the restaurant.
Jane
Save-a-lot
She carefully tossed the phone to the drunk woman and then turned her attention back to the other occupant."Okay, mister, you stay awake, okay? Help is on the way. It's going to be okay." Jane's workplace got another glance as she went about trying to help the more injured of the two crash victims. Damnit, Edwards, normally you'd be out riding my ass already, what is going on in there?
The girl turned on the phone and started yelling at the 911 operator while still scrabbling around with her other hand, looking for the little baggie of white powder on the floor.
The man didn't seem to be in danger of dying right there, but Jane was no paramedic. He just groaned in response to her assurances and fluttered his eyes at her. She heard the sirens then. They weren't too far from a fire station; the ambulance would probably be there in a minute. It couldn't be from the girl's call, it was way too soon. It had to be from Edwards dialing 911 when Jane had gestured for him to make the call.