Death on Two Legs // Shyan

8. Playing With Fire

Two years earlier,
June 2016

Ryan had tried to reach him for four months, it seemed like Shane had disappeared for good.
After that ominous conversation about Devon in February, Shane hadn't been in touch. He had changed his phone number, moved to god knows where and taken everything he had with him.

Then there was the voicemail.

"Hey Ry Guy, It's been a while, wanna grab a coffee? Call me back. It's Banjo, by the way."

Talking like they were old friends? Disgusting. Ryan was more than ready to break the man's neck if he'd keep on pulling shit like that. He wanted to ignore the call, as stupid and teenage like it sounded. He was too pissed off and confused, after being left there with a million questions for months on end.
But as he had no self control, of course he called back.
It was a short conversation, as Shane was seemingly in the middle of baggage registration in the airport, almost too busy to talk at all.
"Hey buddy!" He sounded like he was talking to a dog, making Ryan grind his teeth so hard he was about to break them.
"What the fuck, McClintock- oh sorry, I meant Madej. That's your real name, isn't it?"
The line went silent as Shane searched his mind for any possible ways for Ryan to have figured that out.
"Woah, no hello or anything? That's kind of rude."
"You don't deserve a hello, you deserve a punch in the face!"
A snort, followed by silence. Light chatter filled the air from Shane's end, muffled and far away. Ryan was squeezing his hand to a fist, knuckles white as he gave the anger room to settle.
"How hard would it have been to tell me you were going to disappear?"
His voice cracked, not because he was sad, hell no. He was furious.
"I didn't disappear, you idiot! Haven't you ever heard of well calculated buisness trips? In our profession, those aren't very rare."
Now it was apparent that Shane's attention was directed to somewhere else, his voice was flat.
"Yeah, okay, fine. Buisness trip or not, even a text would have made me a little less murderous!"
"Oh come on, you're always murderous."
They did sound like an old married couple- Devon had been right.
Devon.
Ryan closed his eyes and gathered his toughts.
"What happened to Devon?"
He asked, voice hoarse and cold. Shane seemed a little taken back, or maybe he was occupied with getting on his flight, there was no way of knowing.
"You don't need to know. We've been over this."
Yeah, he was probably occupied with the flight.
"Then why did you want to meet? Am I some fucking tinder date to you now?!"
"Chill out, for fuck's sake! I just wanted to see how you're doing, you know, I tought we could be friends."
"Bullshit."
It was silent again, for maybe fifteen agonising seconds. Then Shane spoke again;
"How did you know my name?"
He asked it like it was any question, voice smooth and calm. Ryan was a little taken back by that.
"I've done some digging."
Was the best answer he could come up with.
"Impressive. I've really got to go now tough, let's get that coffee tomorrow. I'll text you the time and place."
The call cut out before Ryan could protest.

They sat down, facing each other. It was the edge of Chigago, a quiet little diner standing by the highway.
The only other customer was a purple haired woman, sitting far in the other side.
Shane ordered a hotdog. Ryan got a glass of water.
"Tell me about Devon's death." He started talking as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.
"Woah, no small talk? Damn it Ryan."
Shane tried to make the conversation lighter- failing miserably judging by the murderous look in Ryan's eyes.
"Ugh, fine. Let's make a deal; you tell me what details you dug up about my private life, I tell you who killed Devon. Deal?"
He was up to something, Ryan could sense it.
"Fine." He agreed anyway.
"It took months, but by bribing the right people, by doing hours and hours of research, I got my hands on some pretty juicy files."
Shane swallowed uncomfortably as he listened, feeling oddly voulnerable.
"What do you know?" He asked with a tone that was a little too serious for him.
"I know that your real name is Shane Alexander Madej, you were born on May 16th, 1986 in Illinois, and you're in deep shit when it comes to your criminal record. In other words, I could bring you down with the information I have."
Ryan flashed a menacing smile. Shane answered it with a chuckle.
"You don't own shit." His voice was low as he leaned closer to Ryan over the table. The tension in between them was heavy, Ryan's breathing trembled as he felt Shane's presence dominant over his own.
They stared each other in the eyes, Shane's nose inches from Ryan's as he was leaning over the narrow table.
"You know why?" He asked, licking his dry lips as he yanked his body quickly off his booth, triggering Ryan's fight or flight responce. They were both up in seconds, still as statues, staring each other down.
"Because..." Shane's breathing was hot, he took two slow steps so he was inches away from his shorter counterpart.
"...You don't have shit."
Their lips were barely apart, eyes staring each other down like a couple of tigers battling over dominance.
The click of the cuffs broke the electricy in between them, Ryan felt the cool metal around his wrist replace the heat of Shane's body within one second.
He was cuffed to the table.
Shane grinned like he was victorious, turning away on his heels, straight out of the front door.
The purple haired woman smirked as she sipped the last of her coffee, following Shane out to a black car.
Ryan just stared in a daze as they drove away.

—————

"I'm sorry, Ryan."
He actually did sound sorry. Ryan felt his throat tighten as the car turned to his street.
The pilar of smoke was thick and black, hot ash was floating in the wind.
"What have you done?" He didn't know if it was the smoke or the tears, but his eyes were burning.
"I couldn't let you have those files, that's fairly obivous, don't you think? Didn't your mama teach you, if you play with fire you might get burned."
Shane's voice was dry.
The white walls of the house had blackened, thick smoke poured from the windows. Flashes of red and orange danced inside trough the missing front door, it had been kicked in before the fire had started.
"I hate you." Was all that Ryan could think of, all he could say. In that moment, he knew no other words.
"That's too bad, I really started to warm up to you. Well, it's always like that with pets, isn't it."
Ryan's blood was boiling, his hands shook as he squeezed the phone on his ear. The fire department had just arrived, a crowd of people watched as they tried to put the fire out.
"I told you about the files... now tell me, who killed Devon?"
The anger radiated from his voice, from his expression. The knot in his throat tightened as he heard the amused voice answer;
"Oh baby, haven't you realized? I'm a dirty, dirty liar."
The call cut off.
And Ryan started to cry.

That was it;
He had lost his name.
His house.
All of his earthly posessions.
Shane hadn't only burnt down his house, he had robbed him blind.

Phoenixes rise from their ashes, and if someone fit that worn out, cliché metaphor, it was Ryan Steven Bergara.

Exept it wasn't, no. Ryan Steven Bergara was dead.
Ricky Goldsworth was what rose from his ashes.
Ricky Goldsworth, the emperor of LA's underworld.
Ricky Goldsworth, whose heart turned to stone as he watched his life slip trough his fingers on that June afternoon.

He moved back to LA after that. He didn't go to his family tough, he couldn't. At first he was afraid that he'd lose them too if he got too close.
Like he had lost everything else.
He started from scratch, with nothing but Francesca Norris, his secritary by his side.
She found him small jobs, invidual clients, fast cash.
He built a reputation in LA almost as fast as he had lost the one of 'Night Night' Bergara in Chigago.
From a small office in a shitty neighbourhood to one in downtown, he was fast to pave a path to the top.
And soon he had a huge house, a front operation as an accountant, clients lining up for months.
And in the middle of all that, he was always bitter.
He wouldn't be there if it wasn't for Shane, and every day he hoped that wherever he was in the world, Shane Madej knew his name and was at least a little salty. Just a bit, because it was him who gave Ryan the push he needed.
"Thank you for the tragedy, Shane Madej. I will return it someday."