𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖓 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

        “Good morning!” The barista says cheerfully. “What can I get for you?”
​​​​​​​        I take a quick look at the menu. “A banana nut muffin and… a regular coffee. Add two shots of vanilla creamer.”
        “Muffin and coffee. Cup size?”
        “Whatever is cheapest,” I answer with a smile.
        She laughs, then checks with me that I really do want the smallest size. When I confirm, she adds it all up. “That’ll be eight dollars and twenty-nine cents.”
        I insert my credit card into the card reader. When the purchase is confirmed, she prints out my receipt and hands it to me. I step to the side to wait. I’m customer forty-three, and they’ve been open for less than two hours. It must be a busy morning for them.
        I look around the shop. It’s not very crowded, but there are more people in here than usual. Still, it remains rather quiet. It must be too early for a lot of chatter. I like it. Too much noise would ruin the atmosphere. I think that they’re trying to go for a ‘home-like’ aesthetic, with mood lighting and couches instead of just basic chairs. My best friend, Jordan, loves coming here. She thinks it’s cute. I think they have good muffins.
        “Forty-three.”
        Upon hearing my number, I turn my head back to the counter. The employee hands my order to me with a smile. I thank her, then walk to a free table. I don’t have class today, so I’m able to sit here and drink instead of having to rush off. I prefer these days. Being able to enjoy the atmosphere and hear the music is a much better experience than listening to a lot of people talk. I like quiet.
        An unusual feeling approaches me. I decide to get up and grab a newspaper to read. They only cost a quarter. I don’t know why I’ve never bothered to get one before. When I get back to my table, I take a sip of my coffee, a bit of my muffin, and I start reading.
        Outraged citizens are protesting all over the country. Politicians still have nothing useful to say about, well, anything. Another musician won an award. A local museum is hosting some event to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. There was another…
        The sound of a horn pulls me out of the paper. I look outside in time to see a car coming full speed at the cafe. It comes crashing through the windows—taking out tables, knocking over chairs, even hitting an employee. People scream and take off running in the opposite directions. I feel glued to my seat. The front windows of the car are rolled down. The driver and passenger both lean their guns out and start shooting. Suddenly, I’m no longer stuck. I jump out of my seat onto the floor.
        The screaming gets worse when gunshots are involved. I peek over the table to see that the target appears to be one, or multiple, employees. Neither of the assailants are facing me. I decide to take the risk. I stand up and take off running as quickly as I can to the broken window. I can hear somebody behind me yelling at me to stop, but I don’t care enough to see who it is or why they want me to.
        “Zak!”
        Hearing my name specifically does throw me off. I falter just long enough for someone to grab me. I’m pulled into a dumpster, then the lid is dropped over me. Before it closes, I’m able to see the car starting to back up.
        “Um…” I start cautiously. “This is Jordan, right?”
        “Yes, of course. How many girls do you know who live in a dumpster?”
        She turns on the brightest flashlight I have ever seen. It lights up the whole ‘room’. Her eyes are wild. I assume that it’s exhilaration of some kind. Maybe not excitement, but panic. She starts asking me if I’m okay and offers me a bottle of water. I say yes to both.
        “Dude, those drivers were crazy! Were they shooting?”
        I nod while putting the cap back on the bottle. “Yeah, it was nuts. I think they were targeting someone.”
        She rolls her eyes. “Well, duh. It was the Sex Monkeys.”
        I cringe. I can’t believe that they really chose to use that name. Nickolas decided on it when we were still in middle school. He thought that it was so funny and clever. Sometimes I wonder if the reason that he kept it was to spite everyone who said it was stupid. Still, it’s hard to be afraid of a gang that calls themselves Sex Monkeys. That’s more embarrassing than threatening.
        “How do you know?” I ask.
        “The license plate was S-X-M-N-K-Y. What does that spell?”
        “Sex Monkey,” I say with a groan.
        “Exactly!”
        I sit quietly while she starts shuffling around in search of something. The fact that Nickolas is this old and still wanting to do gang shit is kind of embarrassing in its own way. By now, we figured that he’d have bigger dreams than wanting to be an ‘on land pirate’, as he once put it. It’s just so juvenile.
        Jordan sits next to me. She opens up a book and starts flipping through the pages wildly. When she stops, she places it on the floor so we can both see it. The two pages are full of pictures of cars, license plates, and people. And there, on the second page, is a photo of the exact car that crashed through the cafe with the plate that Jordan saw. Next to that photo is a picture of two people. One is definitely Nickolas.
        “Who’s the girl?” I ask.
        “Rachelle,” Jordan answers confidently.
        I squint at the photo. “That’s Rachelle? Like, Josh and Rachelle?” She nods. “Jesus Christ. What’s she doing with Nickolas?”
        “Business got slow. The two of them teamed up with him to get more clients. She’s more involved than he is.”
        Jordan flips the page. Initially, all I see are photos of the cafe. But when I look closer, I see the relevancy. There’s one of the employee who gave me my order. Jordan got a picture of Rachelle giving him a bag.
        I point at him. “That must have been their target.”
        “Most likely,” She agrees. “He placed a large order a few months ago that he’s been paying off every Tuesday. But for the past month, he’s been dodging them. I assume that they decided to stop waiting for his corporation.”
        That theory makes a lot of sense. Leave it to Jordan to run an investigation and have everything figured out eons before anyone else. She’s finally using her love for stalking to the benefit of the community. In a way.
        “Stop daydreaming, sweetcheeks,” she orders while snapping her fingers in front of my face. “We have bigger things to think of than your dreams.”
        “Like what? What are we supposed to do?”
        “They were yelling for you when you took off running. Given the way that they backed up, I doubt that they just wanted to talk. We need to come up with a plan to keep you safe while they try to find you. They never let people get away for very long.”
        The statement feels like a kick to the chest. She’s not wrong—the likelihood of me safely remaining a witness is very low. I’ll be surprised if I’m able to make it to the end of the week. I almost ask Jordan for advice, but she’s already scavenging again. I smile. She’s always a few steps ahead of me.
        Jordan has always been a few steps ahead of everyone. Born nosy, she quickly developed a skill for eavesdropping. It used to piss off our classmates when we were in school together. She was constantly blackmailing people and always had the evidence as extra incentive. I’m glad to see that her ability is helpful now. She never let being called ‘weird’ slow her down. If anything, it sped her up.
        She returns with a notebook. “I have just one name for you: Max.”
        I tense up. “Why?”
        “He’ll help us. Paul was in the hospital last year because Nick—Nickolas’ son—was given the mission of attacking a homo. Paul has successfully relearned how to walk, but Max is still pissed about it. If we go to him and tell him that the SMs are after you, I guarantee that he’ll step up.”
        “Nick? Isn’t he, like, ten?”
        She shakes her head. “Fourteen. He snuck up on him with a crowbar while he was taking out the trash.”
        “Father of the year,” I mutter. I follow it up with a sigh. “Are you sure Max will help me? He hates me. I think.”
        “He still does,” She confirms. “But he hates Nickolas’ gang more.”
        I consider it. I already have the Sex Monkeys after me. I might as well risk my chances with Max too. What can he do to me that would be worse than what the Sex Monkeys are probably going to do to me?
        When I agree, Jordan opens up the notebook. There are tabs sticking out in alphabetical order. She flips to S, then goes one by one through the list of names. Despite how big the book is, it doesn’t take her very long.
        “Do you have a phone on you?” She asks.
        I pat myself down in search of it. “I must have left it in the cafe.”
        She folds the notebook so that the covers are next to each other, guaranteeing that she doesn’t lose the page she wants. “That’s fine. We’ll go to his house instead.”
        I groan, but stand up with her anyway. She slowly lifts the lid, checking the area before doing anything else. She announces that the Sex Monkeys are gone from the area, then throws the lid over. It makes a loud noise when it hits the back of the dumpster. She climbs out flawlessly, then returns to offer me a hand up. I appreciate the help a lot. I don’t have a habit of jumping in and out of the trash.
        Jordan, still having the lead, informs me that we have to take the subway to get to Max’s house. I’m not surprised that he lives in a different area. Max always said that someday he’d get out of the ‘poor part’ of the city. I guess that he was right—he moved to a different neighbourhood.
        It takes about ten minutes for us to get to the subway station, then it’s a forty-minute ride to get to Max’s section of the city. Jordan tells me everything that Max has been doing for the past ten years. I think it’s cute that he and Paul are still together after all this time. According to her, their relationship is perfect. If Jordan says it, there’s no reason to doubt it. But it is surprising. They either aged together, or they’re both still stuck in high school. I see no other way it could have worked out.
        Jordan seems to glide as she drags me out of the station and onto the road. She knows exactly where Max and Paul live. If I wasn’t already used to this, I would wonder just how often she follows and watches them, or me. But I learned a long time ago that it’s best to not ask and find out. The answer usually causes uncomfortability or paranoia. I don’t need that in my life. I’ll just continue to enjoy what is the fun of having someone like her around. All-seeing, all-hearing, all-knowing.
        Max’s house is larger than I really expected it to be. Even knowing what kind of person he is, I still thought that we would arrive to something more… modest. But his house is actually quite gaudy; complete with tall columns and what I believe might be a statue of him and Paul. It’s the kind of place that screams “I’m a rich supervillain, but you don’t find that out until later”. This visit is going to be interesting, to be optimistic.
        Jordan knocks on the door confidently. The fact that she never feels worried or afraid astonishes me. I wish I was that disconnected from humanity. She’s completely unfazed by the fact that we’re here to bother Max Strickland, the bastard who broke someone’s hand because they said ‘hi’ to him.
        The door opens. Despite the years, Max is still recognisable. His hairstyle is similar enough that it’s a giveaway in itself. Other than the lines on his face and the improved wardrobe, he looks almost the same.
        His eyes narrow when he sees me. He quickly recomposes himself, turning his attention to Jordan. “Jorry!” He shouts gleefully as he wraps his arms around her. “It’s so nice to see you again! Why is he here?”
        Jordan, or should I say Jorry, laughs. “I know that Zak isn’t one of your favourite people—”
        “That’s an understatement,” he says under his breath.
        “—but he really needs your help right now.”
        Max raises an eyebrow and turns his gaze back to me. I don’t say anything, instead waiting for him to speak. He steps out of the way and invites us inside the mansion. He guides us through the entryway past the den, through the living room, around the dining room, and into an office. He sits behind the desk.
        “How much?” He asks while pulling a checkbook out of one of the desk drawers.
        “Um…” I look to Jordan for help, completely bewildered. “That’s not—”
        “Don’t worry about it,” he insists. “I don’t like you, but if Jordan says you need my help, then it must be something really bad. You give me the number, and I’ll make sure you get the cash.”
        Max starts rambling about how the enemies of his friends are his friends as well. Jordan interrupts pretty quickly by saying ‘Sex Monkeys’, and nothing else. It works as she intended it to. He completely freezes—doing nothing but looking at her and blinking from time to time. He slowly closes the checkbook, returning it back to where it came from. He folds his hands over the desk.
        “What?” He asks.
        “They committed a shooting today. Zak witnessed it. We have reason to believe that they’re searching for him.”
        Max looks at me. I can recognise the expression as sympathy. I shouldn’t be surprised that Jordan was right again. But I am surprised that he’s so quick to believe it.
        “That’s not good,” he says. “I’ll help you. Are we wanting to keep him hidden, or take them out?”
        Jordan and I share a look. She stays in charge of the conversation. “Taking them out is an option?”
        He shrugs. “It can be. I’ve bought most of the police force since Paul was attacked. I’m sure that I can work something out, if that’s what you want. They’re going to be really pissed about it though.”
        I mull it over silently. Getting rid of them, no matter how, would be beneficial. Not just for me, but for the whole city. Crime would drop significantly. But then again, how would that work? I don’t think the force would be able to arrest all of Nickolas’ lackeys. We could find a way to kill them all. Although, I’m not really the murdering type. I don’t need that on my soul. It would be easier for me to run. Would I always have to run?
        “We should take them out,” Jordan says.
        Max nods. “It would be rather nice to. I could get my revenge and boost my reputation.”
        They both look at me. I get the final say. With a deep breath, I agree. It would be the better choice for everyone involved. For now.
        Max takes control of the situation again by getting on his phone. He makes a few calls, then tells us to make ourselves comfortable. Jordan takes it more literally than I imagined she would—she picks up his wastebasket and starts going through it. Looking for recyclables, probably. Max and I look at each other. We both awkwardly smile. That’s Jordan.
        I rub my neck. “I, uh, I heard about Paul. Jordan said that he’s doing better now. I’m glad to hear it.”
        He nods solemnly. “Thank you. It was a difficult situation for us both, but he’s pulling through well. He tells me that I shouldn’t waste my time being angry about it, but…” His voice trails off.
        I nod, understanding him. We don’t bother with talking anymore.
        “Mr. Strickland?” A voice calls out from somewhere else in the house. “It’s Detective Jones.”
        Max stands up and leaves the room. Jordan is too busy gathering up his trash to notice or care. I contemplate following him but decide against it. If he needs us, he’ll let us know. Jordan shows me a can she found. I pretend it’s interesting.
        Max returns with three men. They all introduce themselves as detectives working in a gang unit. Jordan puts the trashcan back and covers her hands in sanitizer. The smell makes my nose burn. Judging by their reaction, the smell is undesirable by the other men too. Max quietly turns on the overhead fan. It helps a little bit.
        The six of us discuss today’s events. I tell them everything that I remember seeing or hearing. Jordan tells the detectives about all of the evidence she’s put together for them. Max tells them that he wants something done about the Sex Monkeys immediately. He describes it as ‘the most important task’. The detectives agree, then announce that they want to see Jordan’s files. Max offers to give us a ride, which she quickly agrees to. I guess that she isn’t in the mood to walk to and from the subway stations again.
        Max guides us through his house to the garage. He has a small collection of cars, from a first-era Model T to a brand-new Lexus. The three of us pile into the Lexus. When we’re in the driveway, Jordan does Max the favour of giving him directions to her home. The detectives follow behind us.
        Jordan is definitely a more confident person than I am. If I were living in a dumpster, I would feel insecure about having people over to see it. But she seems completely unfazed by it. On the contrary, she seems delighted about it. Max and I listen as she lists all of the drinks she has in the mini fridge. Max asks her how she’s able to have a mini fridge in a dumpster, and she explains that she drilled a hole through the back and has the fridge cord plugged into the business she sits in front of. Neither one of us can argue with the ingenuity, as strange as it is.
        Max and the detectives park at the coffee shop. We all follow Jordan to her ‘house’ and wait outside while she jumps in. A few seconds later, she pops back up with the book she was showing me earlier. She hands it to the detectives and tells them that they can keep it. The longer they spend flipping through it, the more it seems that they will. It would help with the process of getting the gang caught.
        Just as everyone is about to leave, shots start being fired. Jordan disappears into her dumpster while the detectives pull out their guns. A bullet hits the street sign next to me, causing me to realise mortality for the second time today. I dive behind the dumpster. When I’m sure most of me is safe, I peek out. It’s Nickolas’s gang again, but this time, I’m the target. I gulp hard. This could go either really well for me, or really well for them.
        Right when I’m about to shield myself again, I catch sight of Max crouched on the ground. I quickly grab him and drag him back with me. Upon looking at him, I see that he isn’t hurt. It was a survival attempt. We move away from the side of the dumpster to the back. Even if they came down the street, it’s unlikely they would hit us. We sit on the ground and use trashcan lids to cover ourselves. It feels ridiculous. I’m not even sure if they’re bulletproof. But we do it anyway.
        That’s when the fear starts settling in. Now that I feel a little bit safer, it occurs to me what kind of situation I’m in. The shooting is still going on, the sound combined with screaming. I can hear police sirens approaching the area. I start shaking. Bullets are definitely stronger than whatever dumpsters are made of. Is Jordan okay? I can feel tears stinging my eyes as my breathing becomes shallow. All I wanted was some damn coffee and a muffin.
        It’s unknown how long the scene goes on for. Max and I don’t move the entire time, not until we can’t hear anything anymore. I slowly look up. There’s blood covering the ground ahead of us. I feel my heart sink as I realise that it must belong to either the cops, or Jordan. I look over to Max. His face is twisted up in a way that matches how I feel. He drops the lid he was holding and wedges himself in between the back of the dumpster and the wall. I’m initially confused.
        And then I hear the car. The engine is louder the closer that it gets. The monkeys weren’t stopped. There isn’t enough room for me to hide with Max, and there’s no time for me to jump into the dumpster. I have nowhere to go.
        The hood slinks into my line of sight. They’re trying to scare me, I can see that clearly. I stare wide-eyed as it inches more and more. It doesn’t take much longer for the passenger window to be aligned with me. I can’t tell if the window is down, or if it was shot out. But I don’t care about that right now either. I’m too busy looking.
        Nickolas is behind the wheel. I can see him and his icy stare. His mouth curls up into a smile that makes me nauseous. A gun is pointed at me. It blocks Nickolas so I can no longer see him. I focus on the passenger. I recognise him as Jordan’s ex-boyfriend Danny. It occurs to me that I might be able to reason with him. Danny has always been a logical person. Surely I can say something to work to my advantage.
        I open my mouth to speak, but it’s far too late. The gun makes the click sound I hear on TV all the time. I close my eyes as he aims better and—
        BANG.