Faust

Weary road, curious dogs

I take one last gander at the million-dollar worth artifact in a plastic box, thinking the obvious. Of all the scoundrels I know, not a single one of them I can completely trust with it, but I'd say Javier's the closet. Not for his integrity though.

"Oi. Uncle! You won't swap it overnight would you?" I shout it while walking towards the steel gate, The Old man puffs a chunk of writhing smoke towards the ceiling.

       "I'm going to! If I don't see a stupendously large sum of commission." With cigarette smoke lingering between his teeth, he shuts back.

       Now he's solid. Besides, he probably figured out if ought to sell it, the best middleman in town that I know is still him. Why fuck me over now when he could do it twice later?

        7:06 With a hand on the bolt lock of the solidarity door and another holding the violin case, a rugged and somewhat unassuming voice rang behind me.

        "Ey, callejero!" I turned around to see him sitting reverse on the stool, leaning his back on the counter and his feet kicked up on the speaker by the swinging door. "Tell those lazy fucks outside they can jerk each other off somewhere else....." Plated gray in his eyes shook a little before the words left his mouth. "And you take it easy out there."
Old man, never change.
        Never change. Old man
        "You too."
***

        For a brief moment, the air outside tastes almost sweet compared to whatever chemical hazard is going on behind the closed door. I take a deep breath to clear my head, but interrupted by a small short circuit blasts on my left from the walking pig neon sign, its left toe is now missing. Tiny sparks were thrown off the board and fell meticulously to the concrete pavement, in front of the group of underpaid security.

         Cal remains entirely motionless though one of the sparks fell right on his shoulder before rolling off his jacket. He's looking at the post-modern clock on the theater across the street idly while holding a paper plate of half-done beef jerky and freshly sliced, pink pork. The other three are smoking on the stools with equally idle expressions.

But as I closed the heavy door shut behind me with a loud and dull 'crank', all of their line of sight moved to me in unity. And Cal is the first one to utter with broad clear anger behind his voice.

         "About time, for fuck's sake!" Cal pushes the plate to the guy beside him, forcing him to hold it. He strides towards me with open arms and extensive annoyance in his eyes and on his face. "Cammey's supposed to show up an hour ago, don't know where she is, don't care no more. I'm not doing extra hours without extras. Ain't...."

"Well, lucky you. He's closing early today. You guys are relieved from duty." I broke off his complain before it drags on for the rest of the night.

         Cal exhaled a long breath with his brows raised before turning around to his man with open arms. "Alright, y'all heard it. Clear the fuck off, Thanksgiving Turkey is out of patience anyway." He wave his open arms like a traffic warden and tilts his head at the butcher shop.

          A shit load of muttering later, the rest of the crew cleared out the front of butcher's shop leaving plastic plates and paper wraps on the folding chair. One of them wave the owner behind closed door goodbye sarcastically, and the reddish-brown skin butcher with an apron and a full mustache waved back at them, though horizontally.

         As for cal, he takes another gander at the clock across the street before sticking his hands in pocket and trudges past me with clear nuisance in his eyes.

        "Next time you call first." Eight paces away, he added. "And keep yer head low, a pig in a 520 patrol wheels have his eyes on you. Drove by four times while you're inside!" With that chip off his shoulder, Cal's steps quicken and buoyant.