Mobster Boy

7

Pic of Jazlyn, the beautiful cane corso on the side >>>

Chance takes the phone call. From what I piece together, it's from one of the people he had contacted yesterday. 'An informant? I guess?' It feels odd to imagine Chance calling in favors from a 'friend.' All I can hear is Chance's side of the conversation and only the voice of the person on the other end, but not actual words, and it's mostly clipped, short responses to whatever the other guy is saying. When he hangs up, Chance nods to me. "I found your accountant." I'm surprised he found him at all. 

"Really?" 'That was fast.'

"Most likely. He's flying in today, arriving at LAX from an international trip. We're going to intercept him when he lands." I'm curious about one little detail that he didn't mention.

"And do what?" 'Nothing too bad I hope. I actually liked the guy even though I didn't actually really meet him. He seemed all right.'

"That remains to be seen. But I'll need you with me. To see what the guy looks like, and if it's the same accountant your parents conferred with." I narrow my eyes at his crypticism, but don't bother to go further with my line of questioning.

"If it's the same guy, I'll recognize him." I run my fingers through my hair, the unruly strands standing on end.

"Get dressed." His eyes rake over me. "...Something not wrinkled. You stand out when you're so disheveled. Meet me in the front of the mansion." He strides into his private bathroom, locking the door. 'Don't people at airports usually look disheveled?' I roll my eyes, but do as he says.

~~

Chance arrives soon after I do, pulling on a tight leather jacket. "We're taking my motorcycle. Marcus's still pissed about the car." Instantly my heart is in my throat. I've never been on one of those before...aren't they more dangerous than a car anyway? 'That would make sense considering who I've been around for the last few days...'

"Is there enough room for me on that thing?" Chance rolls his eyes, swinging a leg over the machine and revving it up. I jump at the sound, uncertainty crawling its way into the forefront of my mind. "I um, I just sit right behind you, huh?" I gulp and purse my lips.

"That's the idea. Hop on." I'm as careful with the bike as I would be a live animal, not sure where to put my hands.

"I'm on. I just hold onto the edge behind me, right?" I ask, unsure of myself.

"I don't trust your grip. Just hold onto me." I feel myself pale slightly.

"B-but I-" He cuts me off.

"You wanna fall off? And take me down with you?" Reaching behind him, he takes my hand and puts it on his waist, squeezing it meaningfully. I'm sure my face is as red as a flame, but I do as he says and hold him tightly, pressuring my face against the center of his back.

"Don't go too fast, please?" I'm surprised I don't stutter.

"Going fast is the whole point of riding a motorcycle." 'Oh my god I'm going to die!' He takes off, forcing me to hold onto him tighter. Once the initial panic and the feeling of imminent death wear off, it's not too bad. But my heart doesn't stop pounding until we swerve in and out of traffic, arriving at LAX faster than I could recall by car.

"Look, I got you here in one piece. Imagine that." 'Are we both sure about that? I'm not. My overworked heart and sanity might have fallen off somewhere back there.'

"Y-yeah." I take a deep breath to center myself. He straightens up, focusing on the crowds around us. We have to taxi around a few times, searching the crowd as the motorcycle whizzes by.