Finder's, Keepers. | Scomiche

Chapter 1

A/n  Contents of this chapter were first published in my one-shot book under the title Detective. Small changes have been made to accommodate the rest of the storyline. 

This story is for mature audiences only. 

Enjoy! 

-Belle

***

     Mitch loves New York.

     He loves that there are so many people you can barely walk down the street.

     He loves that the noise is non-stop every night, filling the city with life and fun.

     He loves that the buildings are so tall he can barely see the tops when he is standing underneath.

     He loves that the people are always looking sharp and ready for business.

     What he doesn't love is the subway.

     It was always overly cramped with too many people, and as much as he liked people, he really didn't like getting off smelling like them. For some reason every time he would get on, some weirdo or creep would always look at him funny or shoot suggestive glances at him. Mitch was pretty sure that one of these days he was going to get mugged or kidnapped or be followed home and get pulled into a dark alley.

     But alas, until he could quit his night shifts at the diner across town, he was stuck using the subway at ungodly hours.

***

     Mitch felt like absolute shit. His shift was horrible. It started with a customer spilling hot coffee all down his front and ended with colliding with a coworker and dropping an entire tray of food right in front of the table he was supposed to be serving it to.

     He looked down at his soaked clothes. He wore a terrible gold (not the good kind of gold, the bright, not-quite-yellow kind) silk button up with sequin short shorts to match the other waitresses in the diner. It was pretty bad but it was better than the outfits the guys had to wear. They had to wear royal blue button-ups tucked into their black slacks accented with suspenders. Thank God for nice bosses who don't discriminate. The blue apron tied around his waist sported a dark stain, and probably the shorts underneath, and Mitch sighed, not looking forward to scrubbing it out.

     There were quite a few people on tonight since it was only a little past one on a Friday night and he was already feeling grimy from the presence of sweaty drunk people. He leaned onto the pole he was holding and tapped his fingers on it impatiently. His eyes carefully scanned the surrounding people. Heaven forbid I make eye contact with a creep -- oh fuck.

     Mitch quickly darted his eyes away from the man looking at him a little ways down the car. He could feel eyes scan his body and he shuddered in disgust. He timidly looked up and saw the man hold up an 'O' and push a finger in and out of it. Dear God, I'm gonna be sick.

     He circled the bar he was holding onto to put it between himself and the creep to hide. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the floor, wishing he could disappear.

     His blood ran cold when he felt a man walk up to him and he squeezed the pole tighter.

   This is it. This is the moment that I'm going to die. Mitch could see the man's shoes. They didn't look like they would belong to the creep down the car. They were dress shoes, too nice to even be touching a subway floor for that matter. He carefully looked back up.