Convergence
Characters: All, as deemed fit, but will be [P. Briggs and Charlie D.] mostly and [Mike. W and Paige A]
Synopsis: AU. The lives of six people, two related, the rest unrelated, converge. They have to determine, if them meeting is for the best or for the worst.
A/N: This plot utilizes hyperlink cinema, which involves interwoven stories. (Think the movie, Crash 2004)
Disclaimer: I do not own Graceland, just own the plot.
Special Thanks to- Dixie Dewdrop's Graceland for letting me bounce this idea off of you. =)
Chapter One- The Pretend Professor
Monday, August 26, 2013
5:00 AM
Redwood Townhomes
Los Angeles, CA
An alarm clock buzzed erratically, signaling it was time to wake up.
Paul Briggs groaned, rolling over to turn the electronic device off. Through dreary eyes, he looked at the time. To press the snooze button or to not press the snooze button crossed his mind. He got off the bed and started a push-up routine. Up, down, up, down, his arms shoved against the carpet for another 18 reps. Finished, his toes dug into the carpet, his left side pivoted, and he used his lower body strength to get on his feet. He headed straight for the shower and turned the knob for hot water all the way. He allowed the steam to cloud around him and the bathroom.
Briggs, as he liked to be called, was an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. For the past decade, he's worked and gone undercover for over dozens of operations, but this one would be his last, a career ending high he believed. Starting today, he was a part-time, World Religions professor at Graceland University. His objective was to gain an 'in' into the Serrano Cartel, an infamously well known criminal organization led by Carlos Serrano. It's been discovered most of the cartel's drug trafficking occurs on the university's campus.
He exited the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist snugly, and stepped in front of the mirror. His reflection stared back at him. The two figures sighed longingly, as if clued in on a little secret. Working undercover, some stints lasting longer than the others, left him lonely. In this kind of work, it was best to remain secretive. He severed his familial ties to keep his family out of harm's way, friendships were scarce, albeit federal colleagues, and don't get him started on romantic endeavors. He's had one stable girlfriend in his lifetime, Lisa. She broke up with him after he couldn't, for professional reasons, take their relationship a step further.
One night stands fed his hunger for company but didn't satiate it.
He began to get ready. He edged his beard-goatee and brushed his teeth. Once done, he headed straight for his closet to pick out clothes, purchased recently thanks to a bureau stipend, which paid for his clothing, utilities, gas and rent. Speaking of his rent, he had to acknowledge the bureau for financing such a fancy place. His two bedroom, two bathroom, two story townhouse was in an affluent area, which he liked. He slipped his clothes on—a black, long sleeved dress shirt, tailored, beige pants and black dress shoes. He went back to the mirror to check himself out.
He's been a junkie, former shot caller for the Czech Mafia, cattle raiser, son of a puppy mill owner, even a flamboyant fashion designer, but never a college professor.
Luckily for him, assuming this identity would be easy. He possessed a vast knowledge for the bountiful religions in the world.
He headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. He came to realize his refrigerator and pantry shelves were bare. The life of a bachelor, he supposed. 90% of the time he ate takeout, and the other 10% he cooked ramen noodles or one minute rice in 55 seconds. He grabbed his messenger bag filled with his class syllabi and government issued laptop and left.
In his white sedan, he adjusted his mirrors. He looked at himself in one of the mirrors, wondering if he could do this. Could he really be a college professor? Usually, he was laid back, zen, not at all the stern , he was disorganized. He relinquished his nerves and started the car. He backed out of his parking spot and was in search for a place to grab a bite to eat.
He didn't want the typical fast food joint; he wanted a place locally owned and operated.
Before coming here, he resided in Fargo, North Dakota, a stark contrast to where he was now. On the other hand, he was still trying to assimilate to living on the west coast. The congested traffic irked him, and the ample amount of pollution flared allergies he didn't know he had, but there were various activities and places to go and eat at, so it wasn't bad entirely. Still, he couldn't wait to retire, return home to the dirty south where he was born and raised, and settle down, meet a woman, get married and start a family.
He felt the world continued, while he remained dormant, as if continuously held back several grades and never graduating high school.
He continued driving. In the distance, he saw the purple, blue and orange ribbons blossoming across the sky the sun beginning to rise from it's siesta. It was this picturesque sight that often caught his attention. One day, he'd find the location where he could watch and admire the sun rise in it's entirety, and, hopefully, with a companion. He would have his 'one day' some day.
A sign on the corner, Badillo de Café, captured his attention now. He parked his car in the lot and examined the quaint place. He headed inside, the many scents, sweet, savory, hearty and fresh, mixed together beautifully. He walked to the register.
"Good morning, welcome to Badillo de Café, my name is Johnny, what can I get for you," a man of Latino descent greeted him. He had a notepad and pen in hand.
Briggs perused the menu. "I'll take two breakfast empanadas with chorizo and a large coffee especial," he ordered.
The cashier jotted this down. "Do you want you want sweetener, cream or both?"
"No, as is should be fine."
"Alright," the cashier told him his total. He received a crisp $20 bill. He rung him up and gave him his change. He, then, went to fetch his order.
Briggs pocketed his money and watched him carefully, wondering if he attended school too. He received his food in a timely matter. "Hey, excuse me," he apologized because he didn't mean to bother him, "do you know where Graceland University is?"
"Yeah, um," he took his time to think of the fastest way, "it's quicker if you take the 101 northbound, exit Cesar Chavez Avenue, make a left, go down three miles then make a right, the campus is right there," he instructed. "Do you go to school there?"
"No," Briggs chuckled, a little flattered for some reason. "I'm a professor. I start today actually."
"Oh cool. I go there. What class are you teaching?"
"World Religions."
"Took that last semester... the teacher was smoking hot," he whistled. "I'm guessing they hired you, after she left."
This wasn't the first time he heard the teacher he was replacing was a looker. That made him kind of curious. "Do you know why she left," Briggs asked, thinking she could be involved with the cartel he was investigating.
"No, but she was engaged," he remembered. "Maybe, she wanted to be a housewife, or her soon to be husband told her to quit. If I was him, I'd be self conscious too. The dudes on campus always flirt with the teachers, treating them like cougars and shi..." He smiled cheekily, all of a sudden, when one of his bosses came out from the back.
"¡Buenos días!"
"¡Buenos días, Juan!"
"Juan," Briggs repeated the name in a questioning tone.
"Sí, that's what I call him," the boss answered, facing the customer. She was a striking woman with fair, smooth complexion, brown hair streaked with blonde, doe, hazel eyes and a thin body. Her lips twirled into a soft smile. "My name is Kelly, and I own this place with my husband. I've never seen you before, and I know all of my customers."
"Oh, I just moved here. My name is Paul." He placed his piping hot coffee on the counter and shook her hand. "This is a great place you got here." He looked around. It made him feel like he took a trip to the south of the border, and the staff was friendly.
"Garacías, hope to see more of you." She bowed her head towards him, a gesture of thanks. She returned to her employee and spoke to him privately.
Briggs watched them, then looked at his watch. "Well, I should get going. It's nice meeting both of you." They waved goodbye to him, as he grabbed his cup of coffee. He turned and almost had an accident with pretty blonde involved. "Oh, I am sorry," he made sure he didn't spill anything on her or on the floor.
"It's no problem," she dismissed the apology. "I should have been looking where I was going, but the intoxicating smells," she giggled, "made that kind of hard."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Briggs agreed.
"You have a nice day," the blonde wished and headed to the counter.
He unlocked his car and entered. His first class was about an hour and half away, but but he wanted to do a little recon on the campus. Not to mention, since today was the first day of fall semester, there was bound to be a ton of traffic.
8:01 AM
Graceland University
Los Angeles, CA
His car inched into the parking spot, close to the cement parking barrier.
His empanada was lukewarm now, but he ravenously bit into it. An orgasmic feeling ruptured inside his mouth, the perfect amount of seasoning packing a punch. To wash down the food, he took a sip of the special coffee. This was one of a kind. He tasted the spices, nutmeg and cinnamon. Badillo de Café was going to become a staple during his time in California. Three more gigantic bites later, he finished one. The second he would save for lunch. He guzzled his coffee next. He wiped around his mouth, double checking to see if he was clean. He was good to go. He stepped out of his vehicle, grabbed his messenger bag, and walked.
Along the way, he encountered other staff members. He said his hellos, only introducing himself if they asked his name. He entered the main office's double doors and strode to the faculty mailboxes. He went to find the slot with his name, which made this particular job even more real. He read the top paper, which entailed his schedule as follows: Monday-Wednesdays 9:00 AM to 10:30 AM, 11:00 AM to 12:30 PM, 2:00 PM to 3:30 PM; Tuesdays-Thursdays 1:00 PM to 2:30 PM, 3:00 PM to 4:30 PM and 6:00 PM to 7:30 PM. There several other papers waiting for his retrieval, so he grabbed them. He was about to leave but was stopped.
"Paul Briggs," the university's director greeted with an abundance of enthusiasm.
It's way too early for this shit, Paul mused to himself. "Director Warren," Briggs shook hands with him.
"Are you ready for today?"
"Yeah, I should be fine," Briggs replied with confidence.
"I hope so," he paused for a moment. "You know, with your credentials, you could've taught anywhere. Why here at Graceland? We're not as big as the other colleges in the area."
"Just needed a change," Briggs' answer was vague but concise. He taught himself that. The less people knew of him, the less they were to suspect him of his ulterior motives.
There was one time he was almost compromised.
He had placed himself in that precarious situation, and he was mere seconds from death. He utilized his linguistic talents, where he talked out of his ass. To this day, he could still feel the metal pressed against his forehead's temple. He reminisced about the unpleasant reminder. Deeper the barrel ground to the point he believed his skin was going to become embedded in his skull. The attempted murderer screamed, hollered, berated him to open up, spill the truth about his three month presence.
He didn't.
Strike!
The pistol whipped his face, blood drew, a bone shattered somewhere. His hair was tugged, squeezed, a lump, the size of a rock, jammed and shut his throat. His pores opened, perspiration oozed, his shirt became drenched around the collar, his chest, back.
Click.
"Paul," Director Warren had been saying his name for the past minute. "Paul," he placed his hand on the man's back.
Startled, Briggs jumped. "What?" He snapped out of his thoughts from his past.
His superior scrutinized him. "Are you okay? You look pale... and is that sweat," he queried, concerned. He took a step back, then, laughed it off. "Is it first day jitters? It's okay to be scared."
Briggs feigned a chuckle, agreeing. "Yeah, it must be." He rubbed the back of his neck for relief. "I should, um..." he saw a figure approach them. The man was the spitting image of the director. He assumed they were related.
"Dad, you wanted to see me," the man asked, already sounding annoyed. "It's so early!"
"Yeah, I do," Director Warren admonished. He, too, thought it was too early to have an ireful spat, but with his renegade son anything was possible, and, boy, did they have a lot to talk about. "Mike, I want you to meet the new World Religions teacher, Paul Briggs." He pushed his son forward, whispering in his ear. "Paul Briggs, this is my son, Mike."
Briggs sized him up. The director's son appeared to be All American Boy, dirty blonde hair, green eyed, fairly attractive, but with his attire haphazardly put together, he was the All American Boy with a rebellious streak. He held his hand out. "It's nice to meet you, Mike."
"Mr. Briggs," he addressed him, shaking his hand. They stopped. "Dad, why do I need to be here? Donnie said I had to, or you were going to take away my car."
The federal agent eavesdropped.
"Director Warren," one the many secretaries called upon him. "You have a phone call on line two."
"I'll take it in my office." He looked at his son. "Mike, why don't you take Paul on a tour and usher him to the social sciences wing," he ordered him.
"If it's okay," Briggs tried to get out of it. He didn't need an escort necessarily.
"Dad," Mike complained.
"No, you do this," his dad demanded sternly, not backing down, and left the two to be.
Briggs stared at Mike, and Mike did the same. It was an awkward exchange to say the least.
"Come on," Mike conceded to his dad's wish.
Briggs tagged along, though reluctant. They exited the main office.
"World religions, huh," the younger man made small talk. He kicked a random rock. "Replacing Professor Layla Sarkissian?" The name rolled off his tongue with a lust filled glint in his eye.
"Of course, you know her," Briggs stated not questioned. From the sound of his voice, he knew her intimately. "Is it true? She was hot?"
"Oh yeah," Mike answered with a hint of arrogance. "You would have liked her." He bobbed his head, winking.
"Wasn't she engaged?"
"Still not married," Mike pointed out, snickering after the fact.
Briggs found that insulting. He came to a dark conclusion about Professor Sarkissian's departure. It wasn't on her own volition. She just couldn't have her cake and eat it too, and daddy's money worked it's magic.
"Alright, here is the student union. Students come here to study, get something to eat. The kitchen was just remodeled to include a Starbucks." Mike led the way down further. "Right here is the child development center. There's a fully functional daycare, great for the students who are also parents and faculty who have young children." They cut through the back. "This is the football and soccer field. This is also for track and field. Just around the corner, there's the gym and dance studio. Down below and to the right, there's auto and welding."
"How many students go here would you say?"
"Close to 15,000... it sounds like a lot, but it's not. Easily, UCLA and USC have over 40,000, and that's per school... dad likes this size. He thinks it's pretty decent, easy to manage. To expand, it would cost millions, possibly a billion, and it does take time."
"Yeah, it sounds like it."
Mike traversed to a different area; Briggs tailed. "This is the math building, down that way is the Language Arts, and that huge building right there is for science. For three years, that place was under construction, but it's paid off." He strolled a few more feet. "And, if you go this way, there's business, art,photography, and here it is the social sciences building. I'll take you to the room." He escorted Briggs, ascending the stairs and making a right to room 212. "This is yours."
Briggs thanked him, supposing this Mike kid knew this room too well. With the keys given to him upon his hire, he unlocked the door and entered. The room was a bit bare, but that was okay. He rested his bag on the long, office desk. He looked to see Mike was still there, gawking thoughtfully.
"Does this classroom bring back memories for you?"
"Why would you think that," Mike countered.
"You know why," Briggs state cryptically. He resumed settling. "Thanks for the tour by the way."
"Oh it was my pleasure," Mike responded with sarcasm. "If you smoke, because you look like one, there's marked places where you can do that." He left after.
"Your're a jackass," muttered Briggs irritably, hoping that was the only time they crossed paths. He was highly doubtful he could stomach a second time around him.
It was another half an hour before his first class started, so Briggs took his laptop and class attendance sheets out. He turned his laptop on, signed in and double clicked a specific program. Making sure he was alone, he had to survey the area twice, he was good. Some of the conversations he's had so far played back smoothly, which meant the transmitter, his watch, was working just fine.
When students started to arrive, he secured his laptop. The big hand ticked to the 12, and the small hand ticked to the 9. Already, the classroom looked filled. Briggs took a deep breath and acted like he's done this plenty of times.
"Good morning, I hope everyone is where they're supposed to be." He situated himself behind the classroom podium. He saw some of the female students were beginning to twirl their hair, which made him confused. "For clarification, this is the 9:00 to 10:30 AM, Monday, Wednesday, World Religions-101 with Professor Paul Briggs, or P. Briggs, in room 212. Please recheck your schedule to make sure you are in the right place. If you find a discrepancy, then you are in the wrong class and might have to rethink attending college."
Two people, one in the front and another in the back, exited their chairs, their cheeks red with embarrassment and ran out of there.
He was just trying to make a joke, break the ice.
"If I butcher your name, I apologize ahead of time. If you go by a different name, possibly, a nickname, then just let me know." He started from the top. Aarons... Abelman... Adams... Adelman... He recited four more students with the last name beginning with 'A', then began the last names with the letter 'B', then 'C'. He got to the 'D', and there was only two. He called the first. "Catherine DeMarco?" He waited, his eyes roaming to see if she was present. "Catherine DeMarco?"
He was about to mark her absent, but a young woman with long, chestnut, wavy hair, dressed in a jean jacket, a white fitted, t-shirt underneath, skinny jeans and flats, breathlessly entered. She bit her lip, knowing she was late. She sat in one of the two chairs available, right in front of her professor.
"Catherine DeMarco," he presumed, making eye contact with her.
"It's Charlie," she corrected, returning his eye contact.
Some students chortled at her manly nickname, and Briggs couldn't help but roll his eyes at the immaturity displayed. "You're late, Charlie."
She pursed her lips together. "Excuse me," she rose her hand. He nodded she could speak. "Are we in high school?"
The class collectively ooh'ed at her defiance.
"No, we're in college," Briggs shot back. "What's your point." He sounded combative.
"Right, we're in college," she asserted, "If you haven't realized, and I'm sure you haven't because you get to park in the faculty parking lot, where there's hardly any traffic, it's a mad house out there right now. It's too early in the morning, and it's the first day of fall classes. Parking is a bitch, women have feminine issues, and this class happens to be on the opposite side of where I had to park my car. Now, I assume you're new because when I thought about taking this class, the male students spoke of the finest piece of ass to walk this Earth was teaching it, but all I see is the new guy getting his feet wet."
"Oh snap," yelped a student obnoxiously, causing others to laugh.
Briggs was taken aback by her verbal jab. Within two minutes of meeting, it was like she had a vendetta against him, and he wasn't fond of that at all. He was going to nip that in the butt right as soon as possible. "Charlie, is it," he announced her name with a hint of malice. "See me after class."
"Whatever," she leaned back in her chair but agreed nonetheless.
Briggs continued with the roll call. He was beginning to regret choosing this assignment, if he was going to encounter students like her.
Almost two hours later and after the somewhat event filled talk with his insubordinate student, Paul plopped down on his leather, desk chair. His elbows rested on the top of the table, and his chin rested on his hands. He sighed heavily. His energy was already spent, and he was sure her's was too.
Yet, he found himself drawn to her. She was a dark soul, a dark soul he couldn't wait to meet with again, which was horrible of him to say.
Ten minutes later, his cell phone began to vibrate. He grabbed his phone and looked at the caller ID. His eyes bugged out of his sockets. He answered immediately.
"DJ!"
"What it do, Briggs," his adopted brother laughed at him.
Dale Jakes, nicknamed DJ by him, was his adopted brother, who was younger than him by two years. They were close like a fat kid and cake. Paul never treated DJ like he was adopted, he treated him like his own blood. It seemed like he had a profound influence on him, since DJ worked for ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement. They kept in contact as much as they could, but with their careers and many aliases, it was hard. To hear from him now, he was ecstatic. It was like a little taste of home.
"Man, where are you?" The last time they spoke, his brother was in Atlanta.
"Well, if you must know, I'm in Cali now."
"What, really?! We need to meet up!"
"Yeah, and I'm actually where you are... Look, we need to talk," he sounded serious.
"Wait, you're where I'm at? You're at Graceland University right now?"
"Yup, and I would've stayed in Atlanta with all the damn bird dealers, if I had known my life was going to flash before my eyes... bitches in Cali are too fucking hood."
Briggs chuckled; Jakes didn't have the greatest luck with women. "Well, my next class is coming up, and I have a feeling what we have to talk about is going to take awhile. We'll have lunch at 12:30-12:45? Can you hold out until then?"
"Yeah, I'll just head back to my car and sleep. I've been driving for the past 24 hours."
"Alright, bro, I'll talk to you then."
Briggs was beginning to think his day was going to get better.
Next Chapter- Johnny Tuturro, The Exemplary Employee
