The Angriest Angel

Chapter 3

Chase jogged across the quad, trying to brace the jostling backpack with his elbow.  He couldn't remember where the baseball field was, even though he had been to this campus multiple times.  His frustration peaked with the thought that anyone else in his shoes would easily remember.

He considered stopping to ask someone, but he didn't want to draw extra attention to himself.  He figured he could pass for a college age student—barely, but the risk wasn't worth it.

Then suddenly he remembered where the field was.  He had been going the wrong way.  The practice field was on the south end of campus, near the concert hall.

"Dummy," Chase said out loud. 

He immediately reversed direction and sprinted as fast as he could. 

By the time the field finally came into view, Chase was exhausted.  Despite having a solid physique and a history in athletics, he was never much of a long distance runner.  Pacing in any way—mentally as well as physically—had never been his strong suit.

He slowed to a walk and looked around until he spotted Vick.  Dark haired, wiry, and three days of beard growth, Vick did his best to look young and hide his real age.  He sat in the stands by the baseball diamond, up a few rows.  There were five other people which he didn't recognize, all sitting around him.  Perhaps hired help, or else friends helping him kill time.

Chase approached from the outfield area.  Since there was no outer fence, it gave him a good view of the entire setup.  He made his way toward them, slowly and deliberately, keeping his eyes on them while looking around peripherally for any signs of police or undercover campus security. 

"Chase, my man!" Vick called out to him.  He didn't stand up, but two of the others did. 

Chase walked up the aisle to the eleventh row where they sat.  Now that he was closer, it appeared that the men with Vick were also college students, but they were deliberately trying to look and act tough.

"You're late," Vick said.

Chase moved in one row behind them, giving him a higher vantage point.  He plopped down on the aluminum bench, fatigued from his run, and exhaled sharply, "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Yo," one of the others said.  He had a faded blue baseball hat and baggy jeans at least ten sizes too large.  The jeans were so baggy that top of his red and white boxers shown.  "Why are you late?"

Chase looked at him, "I got lost, the dog ate my homework, traffic was bad.  Whatever."

"You got a smart mouth."

Another one of the guys spoke up, he had a yellow Hawaiian shirt, "Hey, why don't you sit in front of us?  Now we gotta turn around to talk to you."

Chase ignored him and looked at Vick, asking, "Vick, who the hell are these guys?"

"Nobody," he said, turning to the others and giving them a warning glare.  He looked back at Chase and said, "So you got 'em?"

He nodded and unzipped his backpack, fishing around until he felt the plastic grocery store bag within.  He said, "The discs you asked for are all here."

Baggy jeans swore and said, "Discs?  What are you talking about?  Where's the Adderall?"

Chase looked up from his pack and glared dangerously at him.

"It's okay," Vick said to baggy jeans.

"This is not okay, Vick.  This punk shows up late and talks smack to me?  Who does he think he is, anyway?"