Summer Of Mayhem (Westside's Saga #1) ✔

Seven: Another Encounter

"That's eight bucks," the taxi driver told me.

I handed him a ten-dollar bill. "Keep the change." Right now I was too busy to worry about money. But seriously, normally even a single cent matters to me.

We got out of the cab. I scanned the place for 'Mr. Rodman', which I'm pretty sure is the Goon. Who else is such a jerk?

I looked around. The Town Creek, a popular tourist spot of Westdale, was pretty much the same - an artificial creek with boats and stuff surrounded by a fence. Some bridges connected both sides of the creek, coffee shops on the side, and some restaurants built on top of the creek with yellow lights, and more yellow lights.

This place was a dream - in fact, this is me and Harvey's second-favorite spot in town. Crumps come first, of course.

I frowned, redialling the previous number that called me. "Where are you? I'm in the Town Creek now," I said once he picked up the phone, half-irritated.

"I'm on the other side. Meet me in the first alleyway you see on your left once you cross the bridge," he said, then hung up. Now I was SPOOKED. That meant he could see me?! I looked at Harvey. "You can't. You have to stay. While I deal with 'Mr. Rodman'."

Harvey sighed. "You sure?"

I nodded firmly. I wasn't gonna risk another person I really cared about. "Look. You keep watch here, okay? In case something happens, call... help."

"From whom?"

I winced. "You figure that out." Then I started walking towards the bridge.

I looked around, looking for anyone who might look like 'Mr. Rodman'. Masked, even.

I turned to the alleyway, spotting a man wearing a suit and a pair of shades.

I walked over to him reluctantly. "Are you Mr. Rodman?"

He stared at me. "Oh. Anderson," he said, reaching out his hand for a shake. "You can just call me Mark, y'know."

I ignored the invitation. Who knows what this guy's up to? Maybe he'd crush my hand and kill me in an instant? There's no telling.

"First of all, who ARE you?" I said.

"Mark Rodman."

I frowned. "I know your name, alright. But how'd you know me and stuff?"

"Ah," he said, like he didn't have a hint. "First of all... I knew you from a friend, Mr. Hutchins."

"Now who's this guy Mr. Hutchins?"

"You don't wanna know," he said, taking off his shades and stuffing them in his pocket. I took note of his facial features, in case it might come in handy. Dark brown eyes, a tall nose, brown lips, a trimmed beard, and fairly neat hair.

"Why not?"

"'Cause you hate him."

"The Goon?" I said.

He shrugged.

"Who are YOU?!" I shouted.

"I'm his assistant," he said.

Now I was confused, agitated, mad, angry, shocked. I WAS HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH THE ASSISTANT OF... YOU-KNOW-WHO, MY NUMBER ONE NEMESIS?!

I wanted to punch him so bad, but I stopped myself.

"Look," Mark said, noticing the face I wore, "I'm not here to mess with you. I'm here to give you a piece of advice, that's all."

I looked away, sighing.