All of my stories that I'm going to post are all within the same timeline unless noted otherwise with ((independent)).
This is story number seven.
Stan had to make a hasty retreat. The group of guys were following close behind him. He started to panic as he ran down the busy sidewalk. The people who he passed barely noticed as he bumped into them to get through. The boy spotted his destination and urgently fumbled around in his pocket. He took a harsh turn and clamored onto the Metro Bus, charging in front of everyone in line and without checking to see if the doors were opened before bursting through.
Luckily, he only received a few swears and scornful looks as he boarded the bus. The messy-haired rascal took this time to pause and step aside for the other passengers to board. He hunched over and rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. From his side he heard a "ahem" that was surely directed towards him. He turned around carelessly to see the bus driver waiting. A lightbulb went off in Stan's head and he took out his little golden card. His face was smug as the driver made an impatient grunt and he swiped the card slowly.
Flicking the card up and back into his pocket, Stan smiled farcely at the old man and made his way to the back of the bus. He passed each filled seat with a swagger in his step, weight shifted carelessly to his hips.
Sitting down in a vacant spot and giving the eye to an old lady sat across from him, Stan sighed internally and cocked his head towards the window. Outside he saw the gang of boys rush past the bus and he heard one call out, "where did he go?!"
The dark-haired, smug-faced boy let out a heavy sigh of content and slouched down in his seat. He slowly rummaged through his pocket and pulled out what the gang had been after. A huge wad of cash and a note from the gang's leader. He smiled and laughed as he put it back in his pocket, not even bothering to read the note. Nothing written by that fatass was worth Stan's time.
He noticed he accidentally pulled out the golden card once again and he held it in his palm. The many times he's used this card to esca- wait, what was this? Stan flipped over the card and saw a piece of paper taped over the print of the small trivial poem. He held the card close to his face and read what was on the paper. All it had on it was what appeared to be a crude drawing of a maple leaf, a pair of circular glasses, and a dollar sign.
Stan thought about what this could mean and pondered on it until he looked up slowly from the card. His eyes widened and he quickly pulled out the wad of cash. He pulled the rubber band off and he spread the money out like a fan in his hand.
Canadian dollars. All but the first one which was an American single, the one wrapped on the outside to conceal the others. This was not part of the mission.
Stan started to panic, he glanced around eagerly and he stuffed everything back into the pocket, everything except for the note which had fallen onto his lap. He picked it up and read the scribbled handwriting-
"Got ya."
He dropped the note and stood up hurriedly to get off the bus; it was a trap. Only he didn't have enough time to get very far with his escape, for the old lady who sat across from him, who had on the same circular glasses as what's on the card, held Stan at gun-point.