Nameless // Van McCann

Extended Scene

An extended scene from Part 4 that I'm unable to incorporate but wanted to write.

It was by chance that I saw Hannah the other day so I picked her up. She thought I was a client looking for sex but was surprised to learn I only wanted information. She was amused by the whole situation, telling me all of G's kinks. After she was done, she asked if I was sure I didn't want head before stepping out and giving me her number. Some part of me wonders what would've happened if I said yes.

.

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Imagine my disappointment when I found out this was my last pack of cigarettes. I don't smoke a pack a day but I reckon I'm getting there. The thought of having to bum fags off other people was enough to have me make a late night run to the corner shop. I shrugged my coat on, stepped into my boots, and stopped by the living room. Bondy looked up from the telly.

"Where're you going?" he asked. It was 9 PM and we had work the next day.

"Gonna buy some cigarettes. Do ya want anything?" I offered. Bondy shook his head.

"I'm good. Gonna call it a night soon."

He turned off the telly and got up, bringing his mug to the kitchen sink to wash. I grabbed the keys and stepped out, taking the lift to the garage. The parking garage was full of cars and eerily quiet. At this time of day, most people are at home getting ready for the next day. I unlocked the car and started the engine.

I have a favorite corner shop that's out of the way but they carry a brand of cigarettes that reminds me of Lambert & Butler back home. I've not seen this brand sold anywhere else, only here for some odd reason. I love talking to Mike, the owner of the store. He's a 70-something year-old-man who should be dead but he's not. He's tough as nails having fought in the war and he smokes cigars. His lungs should be caving in from all the smoking and complaining he does.

The first time I went to the store, I looked at the selection of cigarettes. American cigarettes are shite so when I saw one I didn't recognize, I asked him about it.

"You're not from here, are ya?" Mike asked me.

"What gave it away? My accent?" I quipped.

"I didn't notice your accent. Europeans tend to go for those."

Mike rang me up and I paid for the cigarettes. He slid the pack towards me and I grabbed it, studying the packaging.

"I hope they're good," I murmured.

"They are. They keep flying off the shelves," he replied.

He was right. I kept coming back for more and every time I paid, we'd talk little by little.

I pulled into the business complex and parked the car. His store was off Aurora Ave. Aurora Ave is notorious for a lot of things, none of them good. I try to avoid coming here if I can help it. I killed the engine and walked in. The bell rang as I opened the door and Mike looked up. He smiled once he recognized me.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" he asked, grinning. I placed my hands on the counter.

"Isn't it past yours?" I asked back and he laughed.

"Fair enough. The usual?"

I nodded my head and he went to grab two packs and rang me up. I took my ID out and he waved me off.

"I know you're old enough. I might be old but my memory isn't failing for fuck's sake."

I chuckled at his crude humor and handed him my credit card. He swiped the card, entered the pin, and handed it back to me.