𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

70. the name's John, Massive John.

S E V E N T Y
the name's John, Massive John.

"Oh, perfect. Rockfish. The place you go to bash beer bottles on people's heads," John B says from the back of the van.

I didn't even have to convince him; he just got in the back when JJ decided he was driving.

He knew his place.

"Love that for us." I smile sarcastically, looking at JJ.

"There's a guy here, that's always here, moves a lot of weight." He lifts his hand up, wanting us to hear him out while he explains, pulling the door open and getting out. "My dad worked for him."

"This is going to go smoothly," I mumble. No one in the entire world likes Luke; it's just a gradient of how much they want him dead.

Me personally, I'm on the higher side of said gradient.

"So smoothly," John B adds, sliding the back door open and getting out.

"Come on now," JJ says as John B and I stall getting out of the kombi.

As John B stands outside the door, I watch a realisation hit him. "No, wait. Wait. Please don't say 'Barracuda Mike.'"

JJ shrugs, "Okay, I won't."

I walk next to him. "Who's Barracuda Mike?" I ask.

"A delightful man. You're gonna love him," JJ fibs. That's a lie of I've ever heard one. "Just, stay out of reach of him. And don't look at him... just, maybe you sho–"

I look at him with a raised eyebrow, and he shuts up.

John B catches up as we walk into Rockfish. I've never been in here, but I've heard some stories. None of which paints the establishment in a good light. It wasn't my dad's scene, so we never came. It doesn't look that bad, light up signs with the names of beer, a darts board that has seen better days, and one of those talking fish all hang from the walls.

My father preferred establishments that you had to make reservations for. Where people wear pressed button-ups, not whatever was the least dirty on their Mum's basement floor.

"Come on, there's gotta be better options than this," John B tries to reason.

"Oh, you know what? You're right. I think there is a better option. Except there's not. All right, dude? Seriously, we don't have a whole lot of time, and your dad needs help right now, and this guy is going to be the key to getting down to South America ASAP. Trust me on this one." JJ looks over at me, "Let me do the talking, okay?"

"You think I'd want to do the talking to some random stranger?" I ask

"Good point." He nods and walks over.

John B and I share a look before walking over to Mike.

"Yo, Mike!" JJ shouts, and the pot-bellied man turns around. He looks sweaty with messy hair, a patchy grey beard and a beat-up cap sitting on his head. "Yo! You remember me, right? It's on the tip of your tongue, J–"

"Luke's son!" The man puts it together, holding a big arse knife and stabbing it into the wood he was cutting fish on. I really do not trust him with that. He stands on the balcony, JJ leans against the bar-type thing that separates us from the outside.

"That works too," JJ mumbles. "Uh, also go by JJ, but this here is my good friend, John B," He introduces John B, making him turn around.

"Routledge," Mike acknowledges.

"In the flesh. Yep." John B nods.

"And who is the pretty lady?" He looks me up and down. I'm seconds away from pulling the knife from the block and slitting his throat.