Guardian Angels

Chapter 17

The atmosphere of Diaz's Crossroads buzzed with the usual medley of conversations and laughter, the dim lighting and eclectic décor creating a haven for those seeking refuge from Angel City's prying eyes. It was a sanctuary where the city's varied denizens could mingle in a precarious balance of tension and camaraderie. Into this delicate ecosystem stepped a figure that commanded immediate attention, not just for his appearance, but for the aura of danger that seemed to envelop him.

Alex Mason, clad in his distinctive trench coat and full-face helmet, made his way to the counter, the weight of his presence causing a ripple of silence to spread through the room. "A glass of wine." He ordered a drink, the bartender eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and caution, visibly nervous. His voice held the hint of gravel, as if speaking was an effort, a reminder of the burns that were a significant part of his legend. From the pocket of his trench coat, he produced a straw, a seemingly simple action that was laden with significance. He inserted it through the breather of his helmet, sipping his drink in a manner that was both practical for someone with his supposed injuries and a clever method to leave no trace of his DNA behind. It was an odd sight, one that didn't go unnoticed by the patrons or by Izzy Diaz herself.

From behind the goggles of his helmet, Alex observed the crowd, his gaze eventually settling on Izzy singing on the stage, who was both the heart and enigma of Diaz's Crossroads. Despite the helmet, Alex could sense Izzy's covert glances, her curiosity piqued by the enigmatic figure who had ventured into her domain. His presence in the bar was an anomaly, a silent challenge to the neutrality the place professed to uphold.

The presence of the vigilante, known for his ruthless pursuit of justice against the city's criminal elements, sent a ripple of shock through Diaz's Crossroads. Patrons, unaccustomed to seeing such a figure in their midst, whispered fervently, speculating about his reasons for being there. Among the murmurs, a bold—or perhaps foolhardy—young man, bolstered by alcohol and the egging on of his friends, approached Alex, phone in hand, aiming to capture a selfie with the city's most talked-about figure—a bragging right for his social media feed.

Alex's reaction was swift and decisive. With a movement too quick for the inebriated youth to follow, he seized the young man's arm, disarming him of his phone and snapping it in half against the edge of the bar. "No photos," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion yet laden with an unspoken threat.

The young man recoiled, the fear overtaking the alcohol-induced bravado in his eyes palpable as he retreated to his friends, who could barely contain their laughter at his expense. "Guess you should've bought AppleCare," one of them snickered, their amusement doing little to dispel the tension that had momentarily seized the bar.

Alex's message was clear, his actions reinforcing the boundaries he operated within. As the momentary disturbance faded, and the bar slowly returned to its usual hum of activity, Izzy continued to watch Alex from her vantage point, her interest piqued by the vigilante's presence in her bar. Alex finished his drink and carefully placed the straw back into his pocket. The regulars, a buzz of nervous energy, gave Alex a wide berth, their whispers a mixture of fear and fascination.

The evening's relative calm shattered as the bar's door swings open with a violent force. The abrupt entrance of Rocco and his thugs shattered the relative peace of Diaz's Crossroads, their presence an affront to the unspoken rules that governed the bar's neutral standing in Angel City's underworld. "Looks like we found ourselves a new haunt, boys." His gaze swept the room before settling on Izzy with a vulgarity that makes the atmosphere in the bar drop several degrees. "And what do we have here? A little canary singing for the godfather?" The audacity of the claim, made all the more distasteful by the vulgar implication of his words, rippled through the crowd, stirring a mix of fear and outrage.