I did not create, nor do I own or gain any profit from any characters of the Fast and the Furious Quad. All of the original characters are copyright to ME, so do not steal them.
The sun set low on the city as bright lights turned the blackened, smoggy sky a deep ruddy brown. Skyscrapers and rooftops cast black silhouettes against the cityscape that had been photographed by so many and labeled as things like "beautiful" or "atrocious", depending on which side of the fence you sat on for environmental concerns. Dominic shook his head, pushing black sunglasses off of the bridge of his nose and up to rest atop his closely shaved scalp. Some things never change, he though to himself. Can't say I missed all the traffic, though. A buzzing noise gave him another moment of pause, and he opened a phone fetched from inside his pocket.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Oh, don't sound so happy to hear from me," a bubbly female voice on the other end cheered. It was heavily accented Australian, and belonged to a woman that had been spending far too much time with Dominic than he'd have preferred.
"Agent Isaacs, you know I'm always happy to hear you," he said smoothly. He rolled his eyes, glancing behind him to see if there was anyone nearby. When he found himself mostly clear, he continued. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Oh, can't I just say I wanted to call and chat? No, you'd never buy that. Listen, Dominic, tomorrow Agent Greenfield and Agent Andrews are going to meet you at Luciano's Pasta and Deli at 3 PM. Do try not to be late. They'll have arrangements for you there," she added.
"Arrangements? You mean I can finally stop taking the cab?" he asked. He couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.
"Yes, you can finally stop taking the cab," she confirmed. "I think I speak for everyone when I say in advance we'd appreciate you just going straight to the hotel for the evening. I don't need you being seen out and about, not until you've been briefed."
Dominic made a gutteral sort of noise, almost like a growl. "I'm stuck going straight to my room with no dessert again?" he complained. He was getting downright sick of having to stay hidden. He shrugged his duffel bag against his broad shoulder, and scuffed his black boots at the sidewalk a moment before continuing on his path, headed for the motel they'd told him to stay at.
"Unfortunately. I know your penchant for mischief, Torretto. I need you to stay put until they can talk to you in person. You have all the files, so just study them tonight. Tomorrow they'll cut your leash, I promise," she advertised.
"Fine, fine," he agreed. "I'm at the hotel now."
"Good. Just go in and for the love of God, don't let anyone see you yet," she warned. The line went dead, and Dominic shoved the phone back into his pocket. His mind wandered for a moment to what was happening. Mexico had been good, but he'd found that there was little to no excitement when he wasn't extremely in the middle of causing trouble. As soon as he'd come back stateside, the FBI – well, they did what they always do. Interfered.
As he arrived at the doors of the little motel, which wasn't as dingy as he'd anticipated, he heard commotion from the club across the street. He opened the door enough to set his bag down, and then turned and folded his arms over his chest, mildly interested in a potential fight. He couldn't help it; Dominic had always been a scrappy sort of fellow.
"Get your fuckin' hands off of me, you little JDM reject!" the blonde shouted. It was her response to being manhandled, and rightly so. The Japanese-American had his hands firmly gripped on her shoulders and was pushing her towards a Phoenix Yellow Integra Type R. The woman, obviously unwilling to participate, jammed her heavily booted feet down so hard that she stumbled when he released her. She was sent flailing into the passenger side door of the bright yellow Acura. It made Dominic's lips twitch, but only because he'd seen Letty do similar things when someone was trying to usher her where she didn't want to go. He planted a foot down, making a move to break it up, but he waited first. He didn't necessarily condone violence of such a nature, but he wasn't about to blow his cover over a stupid lover's squabble, either.
Chase narrowed her hazel eyes, heavily lined in smoky black and prettied up with dark eyeshadow, giving her a sinister appearance already. She pushed off of the Integra, pivoting her ankle and hips as she turned, swinging a hard right hook at the man she was being pushed by. She would have landed it, too, but he was entirely too prepared for her move. He caught her fist as easily as one would catch an apple, and crushed down so hard that she quaked at the knees and stumbled backwards, bending forward with her behind to the car. She didn't scream, which impressed Dominic, but she sure as Hell didn't look like she was going to hold out much longer.
The man literally dragged her back up into a standing position, leaning as close to her as he could. He put his weight against her chest, forcing her to straighten her back and even tip a little as he invaded her personal space. It was almost as though he was trying to push the air out of her lungs with as hard as he was pressing on her, but instead of continuing to apply force to her hands, he spoke.
"If you scratch my paint, bitch, I'll cut your pretty fucking face up," he hissed. "Now listen to me one last time, and listen good," he commanded, giving her a firm shake. "Tran is gone, and he's been gone. I'm fucking in charge now, and that's something you're going to have to live with. He may have let you and the other thinking-impaired white-trash low-income whores hang around here, but I got no use for you. You come around here again, and they'll find your fucking body face-down in the Bay. Got it?"
As if to embed his point into her memory, he squeezed so hard down on her hands that Chase yelled in pain. Her eyes were wide and wild, the whites exposed as fully as he'd ever seen a human eye go. She seemed like she was going to cry for a second, and then she just exploded, turning what could only be described as rabid against the man. Her arms yanked back and her head shot forward, a loud CRRRRACK echoing in the parking lot as she smashed her forehead against his. The impact caused him to lose grip of her hands, and he dropped to the ground, leaving Chase to shake her hands and flex her fingers while the adrenaline did the job of covering up how much pain she was in.
"I think you can go to Hell, Xander," she said, voice contrary and spiteful. She wasn't yelling, at least not yet. She didn't waste time in circling him, instead moving in for a solid kick to his ribs. In her heavy boots, which were fashionable enough but also proving their purpose at the moment, there was enough weight to do damage. Xander felt the wind go elsewhere as he doubled over in pain, and was almost certain he'd just had a broken rib by that stupid whore.
"BITCH!" he screamed, finally finding the air to do so. He rolled onto his side, shouting in Japanese at some of the crowd that had been slowly coming outside and watching in amazement at the exchange. Chase didn't know what he was saying, but when two men rushed forward to try and help him up, she knew that she was going to be grossly outnumbered – and the threat of her body ending up in the Bay was probably something that they'd deliver on if she had the stones to stick around. She turned and began pushing her way through people, shrugging her posture down and trying to run low before they could spot her.
She literally dove into her car, starting it up. The 89 RX-7 was naturally aspirated, but it had a street port, and it wasn't slow by any stretch of the imagination. She might not be able to outrun them, but she could lose them – this was a car with a clean tag; all theirs would be picked almost instantly if they tried to engage her in traffic. It paid to have a friend at the DMV, and she silently thanked herself as she whipped the car around in the narrow parking lot behind the club. As the telltale sound of the ported rotary came around the corner, Xander had gotten back to his feet again, and was making a move for his car. He began shouting orders at people, but there was too much commotion for anyone to hear him clearly.
Chase yanked the car into the gravel and spun it around, looking back at Xander. She threw her own into reverse and backed up so fast that it almost seemed like she was about to smash into the Integra, but the car slammed to a stop before it happened. Everyone was frozen, not sure of what to do – of what SHE was doing. For a moment, Chase hesitated. She was going to regret what she was about to do, but he wasn't going to call her out in front of the rest of those people whose respect she'd fought so hard to get. She slammed down on pedals and listened to the Nitto 555Rs she had on the back of her car begin to heat and pull gravel out of the lot, and then fling it backwards and directly onto the hood of the Integra.
She stayed just long enough to make sure she did damage, but when Xander charged her car, she knew it was time to bail. She finally released the brake and the car jerked forward, sliding out of the gravel sideways onto the side road that the club was on. She pressed trembling feet down and shifted with shaking hands, glancing back in her rear view constantly to see if she was being followed. After a few blocks, with no signs of trouble, she stopped pushing her skill to the limit and drove a little less like someone who'd just committed a crime. The last thing she needed was to get pulled over, not now.
A few hours later, Dominic unscrewed the cap off of a bottle of Coke and sat down on his comically small hotel bed. He didn't recognize Chase, but he recognized the man who was shoving her around. Johnny Tran's youngest brother, Xander. He couldn't have given a shit what his real name was, because Xander was what he was known as on the street, and to Dominic, that was pretty much all he needed. He frowned to himself, setting his soda down. Ain't been here but a few hours and I'm already standing right outside the thick of this, he thought to himself. Xander was the unobtrusive younger brother of Johnny; he'd always been around, but never a very big presence. Dominic could only assume that with Tran's death, Xander took the opportunity to wedge himself at the head of their latest scheme, which he'd come to understand was some sort of heavy drug trafficking. It would have to be something to get the Feds involved, anyways. With an annoyed sort of glance, he looked at the black cellular phone that had been given to him. The Feds. Always sticking their noses in shit.
The blonde, though. She hadn't been mentioned on any lists as far as he could tell - he'd gotten a file full of names with photographs and offenses, and most of them were people he already knew. Not only was her name not listed, but there was no information about her that he could find upon going back over the documentation. With another sigh, this one more disgusted, he put the phone on the charger and picked up the remote, leaving the file he'd been flipping through open on the bed next to him. He didn't like the fact that she was an unknown; he wasn't necessarily the most planned-out of people, but he'd once owned this city – or so he thought. He should have recognized her, and he didn't, and it bothered him. He'd have to do his own digging – without letting the Feds know. If she was innocent, he'd keep it that way. If she was the ticket to unlocking the case and getting himself a clean sheet, then he could do that, too.
Please feel free to Read and Review! This has been totally re-written, for some of you old fans. Sorry, I just couldn't continue with it; it was so lame.