Basically Strangers (revised)

[7 - Stranger With A Protégé]

[7 Stranger With A Protégé]

A teenager entered a smoky bar, a singer on the stage below. You walked with precision, grace. You were wearing a simple outfit. Black jeans and a nice shirt, jewelry and a long silver chain. Arkin had dressed you immaculately. You weaved through the crowd with your H/C hair and E/C eyes not catching the attention of anyone around. Maybe a minute or so after you entered the bar, a man entered behind you with red hair and dark brown eyes. He had a goatee and no freckles. He wore a slightly open button up shirt with a repeating pattern, and a blazer with matching pants.

You approached the bar, listening to the jazz music floating through the small nightclub as you gracefully weaved through the crowds to a man in a blue suit with a matching tie and blonde hair with striking blue eyes and blonde stubble. He had a fake rolex watch on his left wrist, which lifted a crystal glass of amber looking liquid. A suitcase sat between his legs. You sat two seats over from him and flashed a fake ID to the bartender. Jay Shultz, 22. The woman behind the bar stepped closer.

“Vodka cran,” you asked, regurgitating the first alcoholic beverage name to pop in your head. She nodded and quickly made your drink, setting it in front of you without a word.

The man two seats over from you was anxious. Arkin, dawned in the beard that took him a month to grow and fake brown eye contacts, sat beside him. You had temporarily dyed your hair a dark temporary green, and were wearing a pair of glasses. (If you wear glasses, you’re wearing contacts). The man almost jumped when Arkin sat down beside him.

Arkin ordered a whiskey and desperately forced himself not to look in your direction. Anyone seeing he had a connection with you could screw everything up. But he wanted to check on you. It was your first job. He had been training you for weeks to deal with this, but he was freaking out and trying so badly to not look at you. But you looked so amazing.

“Alex Simmer?” Arkin said, not looking at him. Simmer jumped, looking at Arkin anxiously.

“U-Uh… it’s… it’s Xander,” he said. “Xander, not Alex.” Arkin glanced at him, finally, with disgusted eyes. The man, still scared, wasn’t expecting such a forward interaction from the stranger.

“Well, Alex Xander,”  Arkin said, teasing the man with the misuse of his name. “I believe you know why I’m here.” Simmer nodded frantically, his legs tightening around the brown leather suitcase.

“I do.” Arkin smiled and took a swig of his drink. He spun in his chair theatrically to face Simmer.

“Good. You have my money, I assume?” He nodded again, more slowly. There was a brief silence, and Simmr didn’t have to say anything for Arkin to know what he was thinking. “But you’re not planning to hand it over. Am I correct?”

Simmer took a big swig of his drink and gathered his confidence to silently nod like a coward once again. Arkin bit his lower lip rather hard. Not hard to be too noticeable. He had always hated people who thought they were bigger than him. He wanted to just step on them.

One look over Simmer’s shoulder at you, silently holding an untouched glass of vodka cranberry, and Arkin took a deep breath to stop those thoughts from penetrating his head. He had been doing so well not thinking people were useless maggots. You were the only other good one.

“Look, Alex Xander,” Arkin sneered, turning his attention back to the man beside him. The ginger reached into the breast of his jacket and pulled out a large orange envelope. “Give me the money, I’ll give you your… images.” Simmer took a deep breath, confidence on a steep rise. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say, Alex Xander.” Xander stared at the glass in his hands.