The BadAss And The Nerd

Chapter 14- Flynn The Raging Beast

“So, you say you need my help but I tell you I’m not Brooklyn,” I lie straight through my teeth as I sit across from the Russian man that’s invaded my room, warning me to be quiet.

                “Would you stop the act, I know you are Flynn’s childhood friend Brooklyn,” he throws his hands up in frustration, probably because we’ve been going through this for a while now.

                “Suppose I was Brook and definitely not living in Timbuktu, what, I mean how, could I possibly help you?” I raise an eyebrow at the man. His gaze becomes serious all of a sudden, a seriousness that’s hard to ignore if you may. Something tells me this man came to me as a last resort.

                “Do you care for Flynn?” his heavy accent drifts to my ears as the man leans in closer, as if we’re speaking about some big secret, which I don’t doubt we are.

                “He’s more like an annoying parasite in my life, but yeah,” I respond. The dude’s my childhood friend, he knows more about me than anybody I know, I can’t just ignore these facts.

                “You may think Flynn hates you or what is it you Americans say, ‘trying to play you’ but I know for a fact that this boy cares a lot about you,” he begins to stroke his chin pensively. How could this man know so much about the green eyed douche bag and why am I so carelessly talking to him while I have no idea how he got in my room? Truth is, I don’t really know but he’s not that bad once you get to talking.

                “Are you Russian Mafia?” I wonder aloud while cutting off whatever it was he was saying.

                “No,” he answers after a moment of silence and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

                “I’m just Russian man,” holy hell, maybe he won’t kill me.

                “Are you going to cut some or all of my limbs off in a very painful matter?” I squeak as all these scenarios begin to zoom by my mind, creating a list of endless possibilities. Are his men like the Italian mafia where they ‘feed you to the sharks,’ I’m not very tasty.

                “You have my word that your family and friends will face no harm from me or anyone else if I have say in the matter,” he states while looking directly at me. I let my muscles relax and I don’t know why I have any trust in this stranger’s promise but there’s something about his voice that I find extremely soothing.

                “Why help me, though?” I question as I cock my head to the side in a thoughtful gesture.

                “You hold something in your power that is extremely dear to me,” his cryptic speaking can be off putting, I’ve got to admit. What could I possibly have that belongs to buff Russian man? I mean there is that one time I found twenty bucks on the ground but I know he doesn’t think I kept the money all this time waiting for its rightful owner to show up. That very same day I bought myself and extra-large tub of ice cream to celebrate my luck.

                “What exactly is that?” I lean back in my chair.

                “That’s something I’m not willing to discuss at the moment,” he mimics my motions as he slumps down in my window seat.

                “Okay, so what do you want me to do?” because no one offers you help without expecting something in return, not like this.

                “I just want you to stay close to Flynn, keep an eye on him per se,” he orders and I can see how this man leads a gang. His authoritative tone leaves no room for argument even if I wanted to make a statement.