After getting thrown out of the bar Vince loses his switchblade
OR
Ghostface flattens his tires and gives the knife back, sparing Vince.
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He spun around with a start, beginning to take careful steps towards his car, whipping around fast again, hearing crickets chirping and the wailing sounds of police sirens in the distance before he stumbled over to the car, lowering his gaze until he found his switchblade protruding through one of his tires. "Wh-What the fuck!" He yelled out, Instead he heard a noise before he whipped around fast and turned back to the car and yanked the cold blade out of his tire. "You're so fucking dead, Riley. . . !" He screamed at nobody in particular, already having sociopathic tendencies now because someone's fucked with his precious car. All at once his anger surged— angrily trembling as he clenched his fists and stormed upon the front of the bar which still had been opened. He wanted to scream and cause a bunch of hell but nobody he knew nor cared was working tonight. "Fuckers," he grumbled under his breath and started to pocket his switchblade, feeling the metal against his pant leg was oddly comforting as he felt an odd ominous chill run down his spine. Faint familiar words reaching his ears.
"It was fun. . . . "
Vince began to stuff his hands in his pockets and he walked back to his apartment. His mind elsewhere as he knew whomever had fucked with him was dead.
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