Eliot, page 29
Eliot
Eliot
© Copyright 2018 Erika Vanzin
Cover by Erika Vanzin
Editing by Marlet Trova
First Edition
All right reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Erika Vanzin:
www.erikavanzin.com
https://www.facebook.com/ErikaVanzinWriter
Marlet Trova:
Marlet.trova@gmail.com
https://it.linkedin.com/in/marlet-trova-6410aa7b
From the same author:
Edition Language: English
Waiting (London Series #1.5)
Edition Language: Italian
Cacciatori di segreti - La presa di coscienza
Cacciatori di segreti - La scelta
Cacciatori di segreti - La lotta
Forse
Cinque giorni per innamorarsi
Waiting (London Series #1.5)
304
Vieni a prendermi (Stanford Series #1)
Resta con me (London Series #1)
In ogni singolo respiro (Stanford Series #2)
For more informations, visit the website:
www.erikavanzin.com
https://www.facebook.com/ErikaVanzinWriter/
This is for you
because you jumped into this
extraordinary adventure with me
without second thoughts.
The asphalt was boiling under the scorching sun of July; the air seemed almost still, not even a faint breeze stirred to provide respite from the mugginess. Kid found a bit of relief in the shadow of a building but the heat emanating from the black pavement was nevertheless unbearable. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, ran down his eyebrows and then to his eyes. He remembered his third grade teacher once told him that the main function of the eyebrows was to stop body fluids from reaching the eyes and blurring the vision. Bullshit. It was clear she had never been under the Fourth of July sun, in downtown Los Angeles, on a motorcycle with a helmet on. If she had, she would have known that the amount of sweat was so profuse it would run over that thin protective layer of hair and right into her eyes, burning and blurring her sight. If only he could take off his sunglasses and dry them, but he couldn’t, he had to be ready at any moment.
The California Market Center was almost deserted that day; the Fourth of July holiday seemed to have driven people away from that part of Los Angeles. Even the homeless who were usually there had gone somewhere else, a smart move on their part given that the heat would have probably killed them. He actually preferred it that way–not having too many people around while he worked had its advantages.
Suddenly, a burglar alarm gave a piercing shrill. Kid felt the rush of adrenaline run through his veins; he had less than twenty seconds to get away from there, with or without his partner.
“One, two, three…” he started to count under his breath.
After less than twelve seconds, a man with a mask came flying out of the glass doors of the center, struggling to put on a backpack. He was holding a rifle and when Kid saw him coming, slowed down his motorcycle in order to give his partner time to get on; he wasn't even settled properly on the seat when Kid accelerated, almost knocking him off the bike. The man was cursing at him as he gripped Kid's jacket with his only free hand; but, the mask of President Carter, along with the wind that roared from the speed, muffled the profanity. Kid didn't care; he had only one job: get him out of there, not coddle him. Kid, at the same time, was wondering if there was a dress code to armed robberies, like forcing them to wear masks of some president, as if it was some directive of the thieves’ union; he never fully understood why everyone he worked with wore them. Maybe they just had little imagination but this was the umpteenth president he’s helped evade capture through those streets.
The blaring police sirens were increasingly getting closer behind them and it irritated Kid; he usually didn't allow them to get that close to him when he was still so far away from his hideout, it was exhausting trying to keep them at bay for so long. The man he had with him was heavier than the others or, rather, the currency plates he stole were decisively slowing them down.
Charles had schemed the heist of the century, at least for them. It wasn't about small bank robberies anymore. He ingeniously came up with the idea of intercepting a delivery of currency plates that had to be destroyed in a foundry designated by the government. The plan was that they were to be deposited that same morning in the vault of the Bank of America Financial Center and then destroyed the next day, putting an end to their glorious life. There was someone willing to pay a huge amount of money for them, as he would then be able to print as much as he needed. But those plates were slowing him down.
The man in the back of his motorcycle turned around and fired several shots, Kid had no idea if the shotgun was still loaded but hoped not. The sound of gunshots was distracting him from what he did best: drive. He was practically born on a motorcycle–his father taught him to drive a motocross at a very young age, up and down hills, fallen trees and across creeks. Since he was ten, he chased him with his motorcycle. His father taught him to outrun those following him, to think quickly and to find the best escape routes where others only saw walls. Ten years later, he was there, to show the world he was the best in what he did, even better than his old man, who, unfortunately, wasn’t there to see him because Charles himself put a bullet in his head when he tried to fuck him over. Charles then married his mother and took in her two sons, forcing them to do these types of jobs to repay their father’s debt. Kid wasn’t angry with him, if his father was alive he would probably have forced him to lead the same kind of life until he ended up in prison, like his older brother.
Kid succeeded in taking a particularly congested street, but not enough to keep the police far away that day. He glanced over his shoulder and counted four cars, not enough to give the distance needed to reach the getaway van that was waiting for them. So, he used the cement traffic divider like a trampoline to jump onto the opposing traffic and darted against cars traveling the opposite direction that were dodging them as drivers violently blared their horns. He took advantage of the delirium to take the first ramp, still against the flow of traffic, into a secondary street. He knew that, in a matter of minutes, the police helicopter would eventually catch up with him and it would then become impossible to hide. The man behind him couldn’t stop punching his shoulder with the same hand that firmly gripped the shotgun; Kid smirked–he wasn’t the first (nor will he be the last) passenger who feared for his life on that motorcycle.
Kid jumped on to a less crowded street and the police sirens continued blaring as they approached the interchange; if they reached him before he could go around that block, he would be screwed because he wouldn’t be able to jump into the van waiting under the next overpass. A green clearing between two rows of shops was at reach; he turned sharply to his right in the middle of the park and the people gathered there for a Fourth of July celebration ran screaming. Making his way through the park, he ran over a few blankets and plates, effortlessly dodged a bicycle and avoided crashing into a stroller, which was fortunately empty. When he took to the streets again, cars screeched to a halt with blasting horns. In the distance, he saw the white van on a side street coming toward them in the opposite direction; he accelerated, launched himself under the overpass and swerved abruptly, reversing their direction of travel. The van’s back doors were already opened with its tail lift lowered; he propelled the bike inside the van and stopped just a few inches from the metallic bulkhead partition. When he turned around, Jack had already raised the metal ramp and closed the doors; they started to proceed with the flow of traffic and only then did Kid allow himself to relax a bit.
“You’re completely insane, you know that?” The man he was carrying roared at him after jumping down the motorcycle.
“You’re alive and didn’t get caught, right?” He retorted with a grin.
The man collapsed on the side of the van keeping his head between his hands; Jack chuckled and Kid thought they were lucky he didn’t throw up. Five seconds later, he ate his words.
*
They drove smoothly until they reached the warehouse where they had the appointment. Nobody said a word and everyone finally relaxed as soon as they crossed the threshold. They jumped down the truck and Kid carefully took out the motorcycle. He was the one who took care of it, tuning it after every robbery, checking its tires, changing the color between jobs; it was his work tool, his passion, something he had grown up with and knew better than anything else. He grabbed the bag he dumped in a corner before the robbery, picked out a towel and dried the sweat running over his face from his brown curly hair. If from his father he got his driving skills, from his mother he inherited his physical traits: dark brown hair, green eyes, delicate features with full lips and a toned body, depicting someone in his twenties, which was his age. Some of his peers have a thick beard and looked older; he barely shaved once a week and didn’t care, actually he was fine with it, his childish look
“So? The money?” Asked Kid, walking toward Charles.
“It’s not like the other times. We can’t just split the haul, we have to sell the plates first,” he explained with an air of superiority that made Kid feel stupid.
Kid despised him. He hated him from the moment he killed his father; the only reason he stuck around him and that family was his mother, he didn’t want to leave her alone with him. He knew that she married him only to save her children from having the same fate of their father but Kid didn’t understand; they could have run away together but didn’t.
“You haven’t pawned the shit yet?” He accused trying to hide his disgusted face.
“I have buyers; I’m not an idiot! Tonight, at two, I want you here when we seal the deal. Hopefully, you’ll learn something,” he rebutted pounding his fist on Kid’s head.
Kid was used to being treated like shit from that man. He’s been doing it for years and Kid didn’t even let it get to him anymore; but whenever that man tried to hit his mother, Kid became deranged and not even Charles dared to challenge him because he knew he could break his bones. He had already done it before.
Kid walked away, he wanted to get as far away from there as soon as he could and spend as less time as possible with those people. If only he could start a new life somewhere else, with a normal job, boring friends, watching sports once a week, maybe a girl to have a family with.
“Don’t forget a gun,” Charles shouted at him from the far end of the warehouse.
Kid didn’t even bother to turn around. He just felt his blood like ice in his veins but didn’t show any emotions. He hated guns. It could seem bizarre considering his line of work but he had never shot anyone; he couldn’t even think of taking someone else’s life, he was repulsed just thinking about it.
When the sun hit his face, a half smile appeared on his lips. He was out of there and could finally go to the only place that made him happy.
*
Kid looked through the window of the diner and was surprised he didn’t see anyone inside. The place seemed deserted and, considering it was in the middle of the day, he wasn’t sure if it was open or not since even all the lights were off. His heart was fiercely pounding against his ribcage; he needed that place to see the only reason life was worth living.
He approached the door and the sign “Welcome, we are open” made him sigh in relief. He pushed the door open and entered. The bell rang and the cold air welcomed him like an oasis in the middle of a desert; he had goosebumps on his arms and didn’t know if it was because of the cold air or because he was anxious to see her.
“I’m coming,” a voice he instantly recognized came from the room where the staff kept their belongings making his heart skip a few beats.
He knew that staff room very well because every Friday night when he came to the diner he pretended to go to the bathroom and slipped into that room to take pictures of the schedule of the following week’s shift. He had been doing it for the past six months, since the perfect girl started to work there.
Betty came out with a confident stride while Kid took a seat at the counter. He didn’t usually sit there, he normally sat in a corner of the room where he could see both sides, but that day the diner was empty and he didn’t want Betty to have to move from behind the counter like she usually did.
Kid took his time checking out her blond hair pulled up in a ponytail, the oval shape of her face that perfectly framed two big gray eyes, her small and delicate nose and the two pink lips that were so perfect they seemed painted on. When the girl saw him, she put a genuine smile on her face, the smile she reserved only for him. He had never really talked to her aside from giving her his orders but she definitely recognized him and he felt a strange and pleasing sensation in his stomach.
“I’m warning you, the kitchen is closed today so you can only order what I can make,” she moved toward him with the coffee pot and filled his cup without asking.
Kid observed how much concentration she used pouring the coffee and smiled.
“Ok, better yet, you choose. Bring me whatever you want.”
Betty looked at him at first with surprise then followed with a huge smile on her face, like a little girl in a candy store.
“Really?” She asked for confirmation.
“Really. I trust you,” he sounded almost too serious with his reply and blushed a little.
The girl thought intently about his request by furrowing her eyebrows and Kid thought he would die; he loved those small wrinkles she had between her eyebrows while she meditated over something.
“Chocolate or vanilla?” She solicited seriously.
“Vanilla.” He beamed at her.
Betty gave a surprised expression, raising his curiosity.
“Wrong answer?” He probed with reluctance.
Betty blushed, lowering her gaze and smiling.
“Absolutely not. I don’t know why but I thought you were more of a chocolate kind of guy. You usually order black coffee and a bacon, ham and egg sandwich…I don’t know why I associated that with chocolate. Sorry.” She rushed to explain.
Kid couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I don’t know if you’re this attentive to all your regular customers or I’m just so boring I always order the same thing,” he smiled.
“I have a good memory when it comes to cute customers,” she revealed, flirting a little but, at the same time, slightly blushing as she headed over to the side of the counter where they kept the desserts.
Kid was dumb stricken. That was the longest conversation they had ever had and he didn’t want it to end. Never. The knowledge that she knew he existed made him delirious. For the first time in his life, he thought that maybe there was something good, something worthwhile to make him think about the future.
Betty came back with a slice of cherry pie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream, whipped cream and a cherry on top. In her other hand, she held a huge vanilla milkshake.
“This pie is amazing, trust me,” she confidently stated, as if her previous admission that he was cute didn’t change anything.
Kid dug the spoon into the creation and tasted it; it was the best thing he had ever tasted.
“Oh my God! How is it even possible that this is so good?” He insisted with his mouth still full and eyes wide.
Betty seemed to beam. She leaned over the counter by resting on her elbow.
“See? It’s really good, right? The cook bakes it every morning before we open. It’s his recipe and nobody knows his secret,” she explained enthusiastically.
Kid took a piece of the pie, put ice cream and whipped cream on top, and handed it to her. She seemed caught by surprise but then looked around, saw that nobody was there and tasted it. Kid studied her perfect mouth enveloping the spoon in what he thought was too damn sensual. At that exact moment, all he wanted with his heart was to be able to kiss those lips.
“Me, too. I would hide it if I had the secret of happiness,” he confessed.
Betty became suddenly serious.
“You wouldn’t share the secret of happiness with the rest of the world?” She challenged astounded.
“Being happy doesn’t necessarily mean being good. Evil people don’t deserve to be happy, why should I give them the chance to be happy while they hurt other people?” He countered in a serious tone.
He wasn’t even sure if he deserved to be happy but he put that thought aside deep in his mind where he couldn’t reach for it.
“That’s true, but people are not all good or bad…maybe some just need a little happiness to be able to abandon the idea of being bad,” she grinned at him.
Kid didn’t reply but continued fixing his gaze on her eyes. That girl was really convinced that happiness could change the world. He smiled at the vision of such an optimistic way of seeing the human race.
