Author Note: This story is inspired by a series of posts from tumblr by Thesnadger, Pinesinthewoods, Logicalbookthief and Impishnature. It is cross-listed on my acount of the same name on tumblr.
Jerald took a deep breath as a big man with thick brows and lots of tattoos ushered him into the room. If this panned out for him, he could get out of his dead end job, his dead end life, and finally go places. If this went poorly… Well he would be getting out of his dead end life in entirely the wrong way.
The room before him was poorly lit in a way he suspected had more to do with creating an atmosphere than lack of money. There were tables scattered around the room, with tough dangerous looking men seated at them.
As Jerald entered the room the chatter ceased entirely, a hungry silence filling the room. He swallowed hard and followed the tattooed man to a table at the end of the room. A white collar worker like him didn't belong here. He felt like a hare in a den of feral dogs.
"Here he is Jorge"
The tattooed man left and wandered to the other side of the room, leaving him with the heavyset Columbian drug-dealer. The man eyed him with the casual interest of a butcher looking over a fresh slab of meat.
"So I hear you have some information on an old pal of mine"
Jerald nodded vigorously, trying not to choke on the man's cigar smoke.
"Are you sure it's him?"
There were unspoken threats of what would happen if he was wrong in the tone of the question and the twist of Jorge's lips.
Jerald nodded, he had been very thorough. He knew how these things worked.
"I did the paperwork myself to get his name reinstated, there's no doubt about it he's alive"
Jerald stepped forward and offered a file. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as the other man leafed through it. The thin man shivered as Jorge finished reading and leaned forward into the light, his thick, scarred face creasing into a dangerous smile. There was a nasty glint in his eyes that put the paper pusher's hair on end.
"You've got yourself a deal, where did you say he lives now?"
"Gravity Falls, Oregon. He runs a little tourist trap called the Mystery Shack"
Jorge leaned back into his chair again and took a long drag on his cigar. He watched the smoke waft across the room.
"Time to pay an old friend a visit"
Stan Pines growled in annoyance to himself as he left the grocery store. Ever since the whole Wierdmaggedon thing went down everyone seemed to think he was some sort of hero. While he was certainly enjoying the respect he got, he had never realized that he would get tired of free groceries so fast. He really missed the thrill of shoplifting.
As he rounded the corner to where he had parked his car, he felt an unsettled feeling in his stomach. He shrugged. Maybe he had too many burritos for lunch. Still the feeling persisted.
Stan shifted the grocery bags to one arm, and popped his back before fishing out his keys. There was a crunch of gravel as someone approached from behind him. Probably one of the townsfolk, they just couldn't leave him alone anymore.
"I'm busy right now, can't sign any autographs," He said gruffly.
He really should start charging for those.
His daydream of wealth was interrupted by a very wrong sounding chuckle from behind him. There was a feeling like a spider crawling on his neck as all the warning bells in his head went off.
"I'm sure you can make time for an old friend."
Stan spun around, groceries still on one arm.
The only thing he had a chance to see was the wood of a short two by four the moment before his world exploded into darkness.