A little bit of history.

A burst of laughter rose from the high top in the corner momentarily louder than the music of the DJ. There were eight revelers crammed around that high top, all enjoying the moment at the expense of one of their own. That one sat with a disgruntled look on his face. Clean shaven and blond haired with a black and blue eye, Jam sputtered as he lifted his beer. "I'm telling you, it's true."

On the dance floor bodies moved to the beats. The club, the Castille by name, was one of the more happening night spots at the moment and most of the table had recently been on the dance floor. Some did not dance. They all drank though. And they swapped stories. With Halloween coming, some stories turned toward the creepy. And some stories fell flat, like Jam's.

"Uh-huh." A large guy, black skin the color of night glistening with sweat, stole the beer from the blond. "A shadow followed you and grabbed you by the shoulder and threw you into the alley. It roughed you up and took your wallet?" He managed to get a swig before the smaller but sputtering Jam grabbed it back.

"That's right, Mikhal." He pointed to his bruised eye. "I got proof!" He attempted an unsuccessful duck away from two others who tried to noogie him at the same time from opposite sides. Two on one, guess who lost' Mikhal rescued the beer before it got dropped. "Hey!" Jam howled. "Respect!"

"Pfft." A grunt followed. It said volumes without words and the ribbing increased for a few minutes until the other big guy at the table had enough. Mal slowly stood with a stretch. Mal never danced and after the lame story, he was done with this group.

"Where you going Big-M?" Lemaine caught Mal's arm. "We got things planned, right?"

there was another grunt that said 'I'm done' more clearly than words could convey. He shrugged off the hand as his dark blue eyes settled on the blonde. A second later Mal shook his head as he made his way to the bar to cash out. It was his turn to pay. He leaned against the bar and began counting off the bills to cover the table's tab. He added a tip for the girls and the bartender then Mal threaded his way to the door.

Outside the bar, Mal found the dark air of the city cleansing. He looked up at the sky. No clouds. Few stars; too much light pollution to really see much. Sirens in the distance, footsteps on the sidewalk and the rush of taxi's going by was a calming lullaby in comparison to the throbbing atmosphere inside the club.

He didn't feel like a cab so he headed for the second nearest rail station. Lost in thought, Mal didn't notice the occasional shifting shadows dancing along the buildings here or there behind him. He did pause once and glance back over his shoulders. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the building and sidewalk. "Huh." He shook his head and continued on.

He fell into bed after a long shower. No more thoughts given to those shadows. Not tonight.

More to come

Later that same night

The men wore black from boots to knit caps and fingerless gloves. Of course they did, right' The only difference between the two is that Mal was sleeveless. Otherwise, they wore pretty much the same thing. People got out of the duo's way as they strode toward the shop they needed to visit. Another message to deliver. Part and parcel of his life.

A gentle bell signaled when the door opened. It was a pawn shop and the owner sat behind a bullet proof window. They didn't go to the window. They went to the door that boasted a small worn sign that read 'Employee's Only'. Jam leaned a shoulder on the door and knocked twice. Mal waited, hands at his side.

The door opened, a small man stepped back to admit the pair. There were no smiles or friendly expression, there were no fist bumps or other gestures of kinship. The small man retreated to a desk covered in a menagerie of junk, some of it expensive and other bits of it not at all.

Jam spoke since that was his job. He'd said these same words a hundred, no a thousand times before. "Mr Lobos sent us. You have something for him?"

The little man got more nervous than when he first opened the door. He shook his head. "Not yet. Soon. A couple of days more is all I need."

Mal didn't move. His job was simple. Stand there. Look mean. Inflict pain if necessary. He stood there.

Jam sighed. "See, that's not what we were told. Yeah. You have something for us or we have to take something else instead. That's the way it works."

"I already told Mr Lobos. I need a couple more days."

Jam glanced at Mal. "It's you."

Mal stepped forward. He was good at his job.



Later, the little man slumped in his chair. His face was bloody and swollen, each finger was broken. He had at least three fractured ribs. His lip was split and there was blood his shirt and drops scattered around the room. Mal stood silently by the door, using a paper towel to clean off his knuckles. The blood wasn't his, it belonged to the shop owner. Mal grunted at Jam. "We done here?"

Jam studied the shop owner. "Almost." He knelt down in front of the guy. "Mr Lobos is done with you. We'll be by to speak with your widow after the funeral."

The shop owner's swollen face took on a confused expression. Then he yelped and tried to get out of the chair. The silencer kept the bulk of the shot quiet. Mal's brows went up but he didn't say anything. If he'd paid his debt back, he'd still be breathing.

Jam stood up. "We're done."

More to come

Chronologically this happens after the initial post.

The morning after the Castille Club, Mal rolled out of bed around noon. He had no reason to get out of bed. Well, except when his stomach rumbled. That was motivation. He showered and went looking for food. He found nothing in the fridge. Mal grabbed a hoodie on the way out of his apartment and jogged down the stairs pulling the hoodie over his head. He was in more causal clothes than the night before; a pair of jeans, some sneakers and a black t-shirt under the hoodie.

Once on the sidewalk he looked left then right before choosing the direction that would take him to his favorite food truck. As he took off his cell buzzed in his back pocket. Mal grunted. It was Jam. Just his luck, they probably had a job.

Mal lifted the cell to his ear and answered with a grumpy sounding, "What?" Mal was startled when Jam immediately started jabbering about shadows and shit. Mal listened, his steps eating the sidewalk quickly bringing the food truck into view. Mal could barely make out what Jam was saying except there were shadows involved and a queen" Huh' Either the cell was cutting in and out or Jam was waving is arms and forgetting he had to keep the damn phone by his mouth or he was tripping on something he lifted from the pawn shop's secret stash.

Finally Jam got out that he wanted to meet up. Mal agreed with a grunted, "Uh-huh." To the guy in the truck, Mal held up a hand to order two of the usual. "Sure. I'll be there." Mal passed the money to the guy and took the two steaming burritos in one hand, handling the phone with the other. He glanced at the keypad as he thumbed the disconnect button. Mal had no idea what happened on the other side of the phone when the call ended. All he knew was that his stomach was ready for the food.

As far as what happened on the other side of the phone, well that he would figure out very soon.

More to come