Danger Kid

Chapter 6

Frank's friends chose quite the glamorous meet spot.

Usually I like to be fashionably late to my appointments, but tonight I make an exception. The spot is an abandoned parking lot which accompanies a drug store that is, in turn abandoned. This, in a suiting fashion, is set in a run down, abandoned part of the edge of town. Soda cans and fast food wrappers litter the ground, and I'm hiding under a large dumpster on the opposite side of the lot from the store. Hopefully I'm hidden from site.

I'm actually early. The low sun confirms the fact that it is six forty five. The gang, or whatever, shouldn't be arriving for another fifteen minutes. According to Frank, that is. However, I'm starting to realize that putting faith in him might have been a little naïve. He is, of course, a drug dealing, low life, gangster wanna be, and a mutant. That's just putting it lightly.

I'm spread on the ground, and the bottom of the dumpster looms mere inches above my head, making it a very tight fit. A rusty patch on the bottom with a hole in the middle drips goo steadily, which forms into a consistently growing puddle. What a day to wear my white polo. At least I had the foresight not to wear the shirt from Amber. I didn't want to risk damaging that one.

The time clicks by, and I'm realizing I don't really have a game plan. All I know is that I need to talk to Vaughn. Crack heads if necessary. It will be necessary, actually, so scratch the "if." I check my wrist watch. It's an old machine, long out of fashion. But I think it has class.

I listen for any sign of cars or approaching footsteps, or the whir of a hover car. Nothing. It's 6:55.

For a brief second, I swear I hear a beep. Like a game system, one of those cheap number games you can buy at a grocery store for just a few credits. Sudoku, or something. These are also antiques, novelty items really, but not the kind the catches my attention. I figure the trash must have collapsed inside the dumpster, rearranging and triggering the toy. Good thing I chose to hide down here instead of inside. Yes, down here it's cramped, definitely too cozy, but also not as disgusting.

Something crawls to the left of my face. It's a rat I realize, and it seems to be interested in the putrid glop puddling beside my face. It creeps to edge of the bounty, which to the rat must appear a small pond. Crouching down on stubby legs, it starts lapping up its prize with contented squeaking sounds and slurpings. Disgusting. It's about a foot from my face. I blow, trying to scare it away. The rat however, only twitches its ear in irritation, eating all the louder. Now I blow hard, and the rat responds. It hunches on its hind legs, looking at me quizzically, then it crawls over until its nose tip touches mine, sniffing. Don't think I'm a wuss, but I want to puke. Luckily, I guess, I haven't eaten since breakfast, I'm too starving to afford vomiting. I muster up some air in my confined lung space, which is hard in this space, and blow a mini hurricane. The rat is rocketed back into the puddle, squealing in annoyance, before crawling up into the hole where its lunch is coming from. I almost laugh seeing its grubby paws kicking the air as it stuffs its plump body through the little hole and into darkness.

Then I hear it. The slow moan of a hover car. The sleek, black shape of the craft, as well as the logo on its hood means it is a very expensive. That, in turn means the gang is probably big time, or wants to seem so. Pulling into the opposite side of the parking lot, little metal legs pop out from the bottom of the vehicle, allowing it to shutdown with a dwindling buzz, setting itself down upon the ground. The men don't get out. They're awaiting the presumed clients, unless they themselves are the buyers. Wow, I really should have tried to milk Frank for more information. Another car eventually pulls up, an old fashioned wheeler, and men get out of either car.

In total, there are maybe ten criminals, six of which emerge from the hover vehicle. I immediately distinguish them as the buyers; they're dressed in a very classy manner, and are also empty handed, they're not delivering the product. I have to comment, I really do like their style. They have this Godfather look, all suited up with ties that are all the proper length, just reaching the belt buckle. Well, except for one schmuck, who has a natural slouch that extends the tip of his tie down to his crotch. I imagine the others would have scolded him if not for the fact that he is almost six and a half feet tall, and wider with muscle. The gorilla of this barrel of monkeys.