This is the prequel to / the origin of my other story, The Favour. I would recommend that you start there! This one will be relatively short, but I like the idea of exploring where these characters came from and what made them what they became before I maybe write the next bit of my interpretation of John Wick's story.

X X X

Annie Finnerty stood in Times Square and breathed deep. It was loud and it stank of sweat, heat and excitement. There were so many people - so many different faces, skin tones, hair colours,- all moving, jostling, pushing to find a space to stand and take stock. She felt as though she were drowning in a tsunami of humanity and she allowed herself to drift along the pavement with a group of tourists that spoke English with an accent – British, she guessed, based on the stuff she watched on TV. She yanked the strap of her backpack, holding it tight. It was actually the bag she took her books to school in, but they'd been tossed on the floor beside her battered bed and the bag packed tight with all of her worldly goods. She didn't need much in the way of baggage, she didn't have much to bring: a couple of changes of clothes, a pocket knife she'd found in Quinn's things after he'd died, some chocolate bars and a bag of chips. She'd rifled through the tins in her mom's larder, knowing that she'd find a stash of money somewhere – her mom always hid stuff, then forgot where she put it. Sure enough, in a cracked ceramic pot of weevil-infested flour, she found fifty dollars wrapped in aluminium foil. She pocketed it and checked the others, just in case. She turned up another ten dollars under a pile of dusty coffee beans and put it in the pocket of her faded jeans as well.

Once decided, it took her less than a day to leave. She stole make up from the drug store, her small fingers quick and light, her countenance so sunny and open, she looked like a nice young girl from a respectable home, instead of what her social worker called her: a drug orphan. A kid with two parents who were no longer married to each other but to the drugs of their choice, oblivious to the well-being of their children, except when someone made a move to take those children away. But with the older ones out of home and Quinn dead, it fell only upon Annie's shoulders to keep up appearances and she knew that as long as she turned up for school, got reasonable grades and kept herself looking presentable, none of the grown-ups would have grounds to suspect that she slept in a room with a chair jammed under the door handle, wind rattling through cracked windows, keeping company with a house full of drug-addled adults or, best of all, no adults at all. So she'd decided to leave: her first choice had been L.A. because she really wanted to be an actress – she'd been in a school play, an adaptation of Shakespeare's 'Much Ado About Nothing' and everyone had said she'd been good, like, real good – but sixty dollars didn't get a girl anywhere near L.A. It did, however, get her to downtown New York and from there Annie Finnerty was sure she could get even further.

The days were long, the nights were terrifying. It was warm enough to sleep during the day, so Annie lay out in Central Park, her little backpack under her head, amidst tourists and families, trying to doze in the warmth of the sun. At night she drifted from one well-lit place to the next, trying to stay in the shadows and out of people's way. She'd had a plan to find a job somewhere, find an apartment, but it was hard to find even temporary work stacking shelves and finding a room to sleep in or share was nigh-impossible on her very meagre budget.

She hung on the fringe of a group of teenagers that drifted around downtown at night, figuring there was safety in numbers. They were mostly Hispanics; the girls wore short skirts and had loud voices, the boys pushed and shoved each other around, smoking stolen cigarettes and cursing in Spanish. Annie had a talent for mimicry: she imitated their Spanish, not knowing what she was saying, but quick to pick up and repeat the sounds. They treated her like an exotic little pet, making her say things and laughing when she did so in different voices. She even went back to one of their homes – if the word 'home' could be applied to it. It was as familiar to her as her own 'home', a draughty little hole with wallpaper hanging or scratched from the walls, a dirty toddler asleep on a mattress in the corner. They offered her a joint and she refused; someone offered her a beer and she took it, pretending to drink while watching everything, everyone, alert to every move and prepared to bolt at a second's notice.

The group split before dawn and gathered again in the evening. Annie was beginning to feel a little safer, a little more secure, when one of the boys picked at her backpack and demanded to see what was inside. She twisted out of his gripping, laughing lightly, but he persisted, grinding his cigarette underfoot so he had both hands free to pull at it.
"Come, Annie," he wheedled, "what you got in there? Money? Drugs? You don't never let it out of your sight."
"I have nothing in there," she said, pulling away. It was true: she had nothing of any value, but it was her nothing and therein lay its true value, of sorts.
"Come on, chica," he said. "Show Javi what's inside."
Some of the other boys, sensing some fun, began to tug at her clothing.
"Sexy lingerie?" one leered.
"Dirty pictures?" said another.
"Stop it," Annie said. "Leave me alone. Leave me alone," she said, pulling out of Javi's grip.
His face darkened and he grabbed her arm, pulling her face up to his.
"Let me go," she hissed, "or I will hurt you."
"Hurt me," he whispered back, "And I will take so much pleasure in hurting you back. And when I'm finished hurting you, I'm gonna let my boys here hurt you, too. Hear me, little one?"
Annie twisted, turning her small frame to wriggle and writhe beneath his grasping fingers. As he flexed his grip, trying to grab her more firmly, she stuck her pocket knife into his arm, withdrawing its bloody tip in what seemed like slow motion.
"Hey!" Javi said, his face a picture of shock.
Annie looked around – had time stopped? The rest of the group were silent, looking at her, taken aback. There was a whooshing sound in her ears and as she heard the sounds of the street, the traffic, slowly return as though someone were turning a 'volume' dial, so did her wits return.
She ran.
Javi was cursing bitterly, one of the girls was pressing the wound on his arm to stop the bleeding. Annie flew as though her feet had wings, aware she was being followed by two or three of the boys, all bigger and faster than she.

She came to the edge of the pavement, hesitated, trying to find a break in the cars.
"Bitch! Wait up, bitch!" one of the boys behind her screamed. She was about to plunge into oncoming traffic when someone grabbed her arm. She looked up. It was a woman, an Asian woman with a serene face, neatly dressed in a long black coat with red fingernails. The Asian woman held up a hand to the approaching youths and they stopped in their tracks. The boys looked at her, then Annie, and reluctantly slunk away.
Not a word was exchanged.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" the woman asked pleasantly. "You look like you could do with a warm drink."

They sat in an all-night diner. The woman introduced herself as Kay – or K? Annie wasn't sure and she didn't ask. Instead, when the coffee was placed in front of her, she said,
"Are you a cop?"
"No," Kay laughed. "Not a cop, no."
"Are you, like, a social worker or something?" Annie asked. The woman had the look of a social worker, that kind of implacable face, one that had seen everything and was not inclined to be shocked by much.
Kay considered the question. She was about as old as Annie's mom – forty, maybe? – and she was very neatly groomed: her hair was cut in a stern bob and her make-up, though discreet, was flawless.
"I guess you could say I'm a kind of ... outreach worker," she said.
"What is that, outreach? Who're you reaching out to?"
"I'm a recruiter," Kay said, with the same little laugh.
"A pimp?" Anna asked suspiciously.
"God, no," the other woman answered. "Do I look like a pimp? No, I work for an organisation that recruits and trains young people in a very particular skill set."
"What particular skill set?"
Kay winced delicately. "Security," she said carefully. "We deal in private security."
"Like bodyguards?"
"Sure, yes. But ours is a business that requires the utmost discretion, so we would prefer to do some aptitude tests before we commit to training. We really only take the best of the best."
Annie looked at her over her coffee cup. Kay's face was friendly and she dabbed the corner of her mouth with one of the paper napkins from the stack. Yet there was something about her that made Annie wary. She'd seen the way the boys reacted when Kay had raised her hand: they'd screeched to a halt and something like fear crossed their faces before they'd turned and ran.
"And you're out recruiting kids on the street?" Anna said. "Sounds like a fancy way to say you're looking for, like, trainee dealers or hookers."
Kay shook her head. "Absolutely not. Quite the opposite, in face. If we take you on, no drugs or alcohol will be tolerated till your training is finished. And I mean zero tolerance."
"How long is this training?" Anna used her fingertips to make air-quotes.
"About three years initially," Kay said. "Think of it like a college degree, but if you are selected, you get paid. Just like a college scholarship."

"Why me?" Annie said, taking a careful sip of her coffee. It was hot and bitter, it had probably sat on the hotplate far too long.
"I've been watching you these past few evenings," Kay said. "You're bright, you're scrappy and you're resourceful. That's good." She smiled at Annie, who smiled back, a tiny movement of her lips. "But why don't you tell me a bit about yourself, first. How old are you, sweetie?"
"Nineteen," Annie lied.
Kay held her eyes for a second, then looked away. "And what's your name?"
"Ann Catherine Finnerty," she replied.
Kay winced again. "It's a bit ... ethnic," she said. "You wanna think about another name?"
"I can take another name?"
"You should take another name. We both know you're here because you don't want to be found. Well, don't make it too easy to find you, choose another name. Doesn't have to be too different – how about Anna? Sounds more sophisticated, right?"
"Anna," she said. "Okay. And how about ... Quinn?" She thought of her brother, his floppy blond hair and the freckle above his lip.
"Anna Quinn? A bit more generic – I guess it'll do," Kay said. She signalled to the waitress and paid the bill. "Come on, Miss Quinn, let's go and meet the boss."

Kay had a car parked nearby, in a side street where people hung around in shadows. They melted away when they saw her coming and she pretended not to see them. She didn't drive long, pulling into an underground garage next to a tall building with narrow windows, like an old house that had been converted to offices. She led the way up the stairs nodding to people on the way down. They were all young, Anna realised, a few years older than her. They were mostly guys but they were also passed on the way by a pair of girls, who made no pretence of gawping at Anna she walked by. At the top of the stairs, Kay stopped in front of a door and rapped it quickly.
"One moment!" came a man's voice from within. They waited silently in the hall, till a young man opened the door. Anna looked up at him curiously: he was tall and thin, his dark hair fell into his brown eyes. He held the door open for them, his head inclined in a kind of a bow.
"Hello, John," Kay said, her voice warm.
"Miss Chen," he said, in a surprisingly deep voice. Anna glanced at him, but he kept his eyes lowered.

"What do we have here?" said an older man, standing up from his chair beside the fireplace. The room was quite cosy; it had a large wooden desk and bookshelves on two walls. Beside the fire were two old armchairs that looked well-worn and well-loved.
"This is Anna Quinn," Kay said, pushing her forward. "The one I was telling you about."
The older man took her chin in his hand. He wasn't much taller than she was, his hair was quite white and his skin was tanned and wrinkled, an almost shocking contrast to his very blue eyes.
"Name?" he said.
"Anna Quinn," she said, her chin still in his hand.
"Age?"
"Nineteen," she said, the lie coming easier this time.
"How old is she, Mr Wick?" the man said, spinning her around to face him.
The young man ran his hand through his hair, sweeping it back off his face. He stared at Anna for a moment, then glanced away, embarrassed.
"Uh, seventeen?" he ventured. She glared at him. His skin was smooth and he had a long, straight nose. He was suspiciously... pretty, she thought in distaste.
"Not a day over eighteen in any case, I'd say," said the old man cheerily. He released her chin. "Am I right?"
Anna said nothing.
"Well, now, Miss Quinn, Miss Chen here says you can fight. Would you like to show me how?"
Anna looked at him, assessing him.
"Yeah, right. Who are you anyway?" she snapped.
"I beg your pardon. No introductions were made, how rude. I'm Michael Black. Owner of this establishment." He smiled at her genially. "Now, would you care to show me how you can fight?"

She felt slightly absurd; in fact, the entire situation was absurd and Anna couldn't help but wonder if she'd got herself into something she mightn't be able to get out of.
"Who do you want me to fight?" she asked. "Her?" and she pointed at Kay, who chuckled, as though the prospect was ridiculous.
"No," Mr Black said. "Mr Wick, if you please."
"Him? Here?" Anna said, looking around. The room wasn't very big and it looked to be full of all kinds of old stuff you didn't want to break.
"Yes," said Mr Black. "Step forward, Mr Wick."
"His name is Wick?" Anna grinned. "Wick?"
The young man nodded and he coloured briefly, like a child. He was in his early twenties, she guessed, but still long and gangly like a teen.
"Off you go," Mr Black said.
"You just want me to, like, hit him?" Anna said, biting back the urge to laugh hysterically.
"If you want," the older man said easily.
"Fine," she replied and stepped forward. The young man looked down at her and she started. His eyes were very brown and very frank. Anna had the feeling he was looking through her and she didn't like it one bit. She shoved him roughly, suddenly angry with him for the intrusion into her private thoughts.

He grabbed her arm and twisted her around, one arm across her midriff, the other across her shoulders to keep her from moving. He smelled clean, of soap and deodorant, and Anna felt ashamed of how she smelled, after the best part of a week on the streets, so she wriggled and pushed, trying to free herself. He held her tighter and she became more desperate, wriggling to create just the tiniest bit of room to wedge her fingers under his grip. He pulled her closer and she became aware of his smell again, his smooth cheek brushed against hers as he shifted his weight to hold her more tightly. He was close enough to smell her greasy hair, her dirty sweatshirt. Anna felt a surge of adrenalin and twisted furiously, moving like an eel to slip out of his grip. Momentarily confused, he loosened his hold to re-grip her and she pulled away, then swung in and bit his arm. He yelped and jumped back and she kneed him in the groin.
"Hey!" he yelped and she took the opportunity to launch herself at him, only to be held back by Kay, who grabbed her arm and pulled her off.

"Like an alley cat," said Mr Black admiringly.
Kay released her and patted the young man's arm. "You okay, hon?" she asked.
He nodded, glancing at Anna, then looking away.
"What do you think?" Kay asked.
"She has potential," Mr Black said. He thought for a minute or two, looking her over. "How about it, Miss Quinn? Are you willing to join our ranks and be trained? We offer a stipend for your training, as well as board and lodging."
Anna didn't know what a stipend was, but board and lodging sounded good.
"Yeah, sure, why not," she said casually. Her heart was still beating fast, adrenalin was still coursing through her veins.
"You will sign a training contract, which will be renewed or cancelled after six months. Miss Chen will walk you through the contract, point by point. It is imperative that you understand every single word before you sign."
"Okay," Anna said.
Michael Black smiled. "Miss Chen will take you to the office and deal with the paperwork. First, however, you might care to take a shower?"
Anna blushed furiously. "Yeah," she muttered.
Mr Black seemed oblivious to her embarrassment. "One last thing. Don't you want to apologise to Mr Wick for any discomfort caused?"
Anna gaped at him. "Say sorry to him?" she asked.
Mr Black shrugged. "We are professionals, Miss Quinn. We comport ourselves with decorum."
"Oh-kay," she said and turned to the younger man. "Mr Wick," she intoned dramatically, "I apologise sincerely for kicking you in the nads and biting your arm. Please forgive me."
She extended her hand formally and he took it. His skin was warm and he pumped her arm gently, fixing her with his curious gaze and making her fight to resist the urge to squirm.
"Apology accepted," he said. "Next time I'll know better."
"Next time I won't let you get that close," she retorted.
"Firm friends already," said Mr Black in mock-satisfaction. "Now go with Miss Chen and get your paperwork sorted out."

Kay left the room, Anna trailing behind her. As she pulled the door closed, she caught sight of John, still staring at her. She gave him the middle finger and yanked the door shut.
What a wuss, she thought,