They're Just Kids
Chapter 3- Make a Move
A/N: Chapter title sponsored by Lostprophets off of their album "Start Something". Is anybody willing to leave me a review?
Bennett had gone home. Sylar wasn't sure when he would be coming back; no one would talk to him about it. In fact, nobody, besides his mother, talked to him at all. After spending the early morning hours dealing with aftermath of losing Canfield, he walked down the hallways of the company by himself when he happened to pass by a wall of photographs. The ghosts from his past stared back at him with smiles, but he never saw that side of them. I only saw them tremble with fear, he thought as he felt something wet and sticky hit his cheek.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to wipe it away, but forced himself to wipe it on his sleeve as he saw a group of agents glare at him as they passed, with one of them glancing at the wall forlornly. He heaved a sigh once they had disappeared around the corner and headed down to his mother's office.
He knocked gently. "Come in," Angela's voice commanded loudly as he slipped into the room. "Gabriel," she said as a warm smile came to her face. He sat across from her, his hands in his lap, and his eyes looked far off. She got up from behind the desk and held his face in her hands. "What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Is there anything I can do to help until Noah comes back?" he asked as he looked up at his mother.
She gently stroked his cheek with her thumb as she thought for a moment before abruptly letting go and went back to her desk. She pulled out three manila folders and pushed them in front of Sylar. "They're not the ones I assigned to you earlier, but one of these," she explained as she tapped the folders with a sharp fingernail, "can probably give you a lead on where those kids went."
He slowly reached out to the grab the folders and asked, "Why are the kids so important?"
"They're too young to be killers."
They aren't secretly related to me are they? He thought as he internally smirked.
"No, but they have a great amount of power at their young age and are still manifesting, meaning that they're too dangerous to be out and about in normal society," she replied matter-of-factly. "Kids should be allowed to be kids, I know that now," she tried mumbling to herself, but Sylar caught every word of it.
He got up from his chair and she rose as well. She walked him to the door with a hand on his back. "I have every confidence in you, Gabriel, you know that." He nodded in reply. "Just keep me posted," she said as he walked out of the door.
As he walked down the hallway to get prepared for his mission, he flitted through the folders quickly. Michael Fitzgerald, enhanced strength and durability; Tina Ramirez, breathes out cyanide instead of carbon dioxide; and Dennis McDonald, can render others physically weak, mostly into unconsciousness. Intel had said that the three had run off to Dennis' girlfriend's apartment in Chicago. This should be quick and easy, he thought as he headed to the airport.
The air had gotten drier as they drove south.
"Where are we headed now anyway?" Cana asked as she stared out of the open window.
Nobody answered. Damon took his eyes away from the rearview mirror and with a cough, kept his eyes on the road.
"You mean we've been driving all this time and you have no idea where we're gonna end up?"Again nobody answered. Abby stared out the window, watching the arid scenery fly by like a fast-forwarded filmstrip. Cana twiddled her thumbs as she started, "So, are we still going to L.A.?"
Damon looked to rearview mirror and then looked to the red-head in the passenger's seat. She looked back at him coldly, "I guess we don't have much of a choice."
"Ok, whatever. I just don't what you guys are gonna do when you guys get there."
"You guys? What you mean?" Damon asked.
"I'm going back to my friends, my apartment, my life before all this drama happened." Abby's eyes rolled again and she huffed through her nose. Cana glared daggers at the back of the girl's head. "And what's that supposed to mean?" the raven-haired girl demanded.
"You really are an idiot," Abby ground out, trying to restrain herself from telekinetically strangling her nemesis. "If you go back to your old life, you're just gonna get caught again."
"Well it's not like I'm trying to go home so whatever, I don't care," Cana replied thoroughly dropping the subject. After a few minutes of utter silence, she piped up again, "I wanna go out tonight."
"How are we supposed to go out? We're just gonna be exposing ourselves to the company. Besides, there probably isn't anything to do around here anyway," Abby retorted.
"Oh please, you're just mad 'cause you aren't legal."
"Neither are you, stupid!"
"I'm gonna-" Cana started as she raised her fist. Damon's hand immediately flew back to try and shove her back, but instead a spark of white lightning flew off of his fingers, charring a hole in the polyester seat. Cana immediately jumped back with a "Holy shit!" and raised her hands up in surrender.
Abby looked over at Damon and smiled, "Nice."
The plane ride was relatively quick and as soon as he arrived at Chicago O'Hare International Airport; he had a car waiting for him. He smirked to himself as he dropped his bags in the trunk and drove off to the south side of Chicago to the apartment of Rachel St. John.
When he pulled up to the building, he put the car in park and sat back in his seat with a sigh. He watched the lights of different apartments flicker on and off, and it kept him interested for about five minutes. He began to leaf through the files of all six people he was after. He remembered how only a few weeks ago he was doing the same thing, but before he was always out for blood. Not so different from before, he thought.
As he looked at the pictures of the three escapees who were supposedly held up inside the apartment when something flickered out of the corner of his eye. His eyes darted in that direction to see a blond man with dark eyes peek from behind the curtain. Confirmation, he thought as he slipped the files under the passenger's seat and got out of the car. Hmm, maybe I should call this in…..nah! he thought as he got out of the car and headed into the building.
He was easily able to slip inside, unlocking the front door with his telekinesis. He went straight for the stairwell, not bothering with the elevator and the possibility of having to interact with someone and getting distracted. The thrill of the hunt, he thought and he bounded up the three flights and opened the door to the hallway.
He could hear the sounds of glass breaking, people arguing, a large thud, and the sound of a woman screaming. He tried the door knob to find it unlocked, and he soundlessly pushed it open. The front hallway of the apartment was narrow with pictures on the walls, but most of the frames were askew, with a few lying broken on the floor. He could still hear the sounds of scuffling and the sobbing of the woman, and he continued through the apartment slowly, every sense open and aware.
He approached the doorway to the kitchen to find two men in suits, more than likely other agents, lying in pools of blood on the linoleum. The kitchen looked it had been destroyed in the scuffle: dishes and small kitchen appliances lay broken on the floor. A woman leaned against the counter sobbing; her hair was disheveled as if someone had been dragging her around by her hair.
He decided to make his presence known, "Rachel St. John?"
The woman turned and looked at him desperately. "Oh my God! Please help me! They killed them. They're insane." This is new, Sylar thought, people are never relieved to see me.
She tried to run to him, but proceeded to faint under a mist of green gas.
"Rachel?" He asked, reaching out to try and shake her awake. She barely groaned in response. Shit! his mind groaned.
The sky was painted a bright bloody red as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. As they drove along I-8 West, they all heard a distinct clanking coming from under the hood. Damon's face started to fall as he pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the car. Abby sat with her chin in her hand, shaking her head a bit. "This can't be happening," she muttered.
"Where are we anyway?" Cana yawned as she awoke from the backseat.
"We passed Phoenix over an hour ago," Abby responded.
Damon came back into the car and shook his head. Abby got out of the car and popped the hood. She stared hard at the parts, trying to decipher what could be wrong, but all of sudden started to understand. The timing belt in the engine had snapped, and if they kept driving further, the engine would be completely shot. She slammed the hood of the car down with a huff and leaned into Damon's window, "We're gonna have to kill the engine and push it to the nearest town."
"Oh fucking A!" Cana whined as she got out the car along with Damon. The three stood in front of the trunk and began pushing the dead car along the deserted highway.
They turned onto the first exit, leading them to a town called Laguna. As they pushed the car along the main road they saw a repair shop, a rundown motel, and a small bar. All the other homes in town seemed to be pushed far away from the main road. Only a few people stood out on the main road and watched as the group shoved the car until one of them approached the group.
"Hey, ya' guys need help?" asked the man, his voice a slow southern drawl.
"Now what gave you that idea?" Abby asked shoving the car using her back.
"Glen's repair shop might still be open. If ya' like I can run up ahead and let 'im know ya' comin'," he said.
"Thank you," Cana replied, batting her eyelashes as she softly grunted in exertion. The man blushed a bit and smiled at her before running off to the repair shop.
Once they finally reached it, the man looked under the hood and confirmed everything that Abby had already discovered. "I don' have da belt for dis here model. I can order it, but it won't get here 'til next week," he stated.
"How much?" Damon asked.
"$850," Glen replied without batting an eye.
"You're kidding me?" Abby groaned.
We don't even have that much anymore, Cana thought as she slumped against the driver's door.
Abby heard her thought and started thinking, taking everything into consideration. Suddenly the answer popped into her head. "What about junking the car for its parts? Could we get paid for that?" Her eyes darted between the car she was leaning on and the greasy southern man.
"Yeah, if I take'r good look 'round it. I could let ya' know by lunchtime tomorrow how much I can give ya' for da car."
"Dat works fo us, right?" Damon asked his traveling companions. The girls both nodded in reply.
"Well then if ya' don't mind, I'll close up for da night and I'll see ya'll tomorrow," said Glen as he shooed the group out the shop.
The group unpacked the car and dragged everything down the main road to the shoddy, dilapidated motel. They checked into the room, and Cana immediately locked herself in the bathroom. Abby sat down on one of the beds and Damon slumped down in a lumpy wing-backed chair.
"What is she doing in there?" Abby asked.
Damon just shrugged. He sighed, "Maybe tomorrow, when we get da money fo da car, we get new one."
"Yeah, but I'm not sure where we can get a new car around here that can get us to L.A.-" Abby started but was immediately interrupted as Cana walked out of the bathroom scantily clad in a pair of tight black shorts, a chopped up white wife-beater, and a black bikini top and cheap black wedges the group had found on the adventure at Wal-Mart. The now raven haired girl's hair still managed to stay straight as the two watched as she sprinkled baby powder on top of her head and brushed it out, she then dug out a small wad of cash from her bag and slipped it into her pocket. She grabbed one of the hotel keys and was about to head out of the door when Damon held the door shut.
"Where you going?" he asked.
"I told you I wanted to go out," she replied curtly as she tried to pull the door again.
"What are you thinking dressed like that?" Abby asked as she crossed her arms in front of her.
"I'm thinking I need to get a drink before I kill myself. You guys have been boring me to death this whole damn trip. I just wanna be alone for a while," she said as she shoved Damon away from the door before quickly running out the door. Abby and Damon looked at each other for a moment, before Abby sighed heavily and both followed after the determined drinker.
Sylar glanced up at the three people who just entered the kitchen. One of them was a large man with tribal tattoos that laced his meaty arms, another was a Hispanic woman with green gas emitting from her lips, and last was the man he had spied peeking from behind the curtains, Dennis McDonald. He stepped in front of the other two and said, "Rachel has a delicate sensibility. I wouldn't want her to be distressed. She got so upset when we killed the last batch of agents." The man smirked but was pushed out of the way as the woman stepped closer to Sylar.
"Wait a minute! I've seen this guy before," Tina said as she studied him. Her face flushed a little as realization poured over her, "Oh my God! You're Sylar!" she exclaimed pointing at him. "You killed Eden. You took down Elle. If it wasn't for you, we'd all still be rotting in level five. I'm Tina and this is Dennis and Michael," she said holding out her hand with a smile.
Wait a minute, I have…fans? Sylar thought as he took a small step back away from the group.
"I've heard so many stories about you," said Dennis as he tried to shake Sylar's hand. "I almost didn't think you were real. Are you here to join us?"
Sylar smirked, cocking his eyebrow as he replied, "Nope." He let out a roar, courtesy of Jesse, the escapee that he had killed during the bank incident, and the group was pushed away from him all grabbing for their ears.
The impact of the sound wave had killed Dennis, leaving him as nothing but a pile of charred bones. Tina and Michael looked down as the remains horrified. "Now, surrender," Sylar stated.
The tattoos that covered Michael's arms glowed a bit as the fire in his eyes grew. "Why I oughta'-" he started as he began to charge at the man who had just killed his friend.
But Sylar simply lifted his hand and telekinetically grabbed him by the throat. "Michael Fitzgerald, enhanced strength, durability," He dictated the file he memorized with just a glance, "But how tough are you when I can telekinetically close off your windpipe?" The muscular man stood suspended in thin air, gasping and gurgling for breath. He did the same to the woman. "Tina Ramirez, exudes chlorine gas instead of carbon dioxide, very deadly." Tina swiped at the air trying to get out of his grasp in vain.
All of a sudden, Sylar felt the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at Rachel, her eyes were filled with fear and desperation as she begged, "Please don't kill them. Please you saved me, but you don't have to kill them." Her voice softened even further, "Please."
Abby and Damon walked into the bar and were immediately hit with the smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and God only knew what else. Abby shivered a bit, completely skeeved out as Damon strode into the thick of the bar searching for Cana.
All of a sudden they heard a loud squeal and spotted the girl giggling with a bunch of men around her who were pouring her another shot of what Abby assumed was tequila. They watched as Cana swilled down the drink and patted the face of a beefy bald man, who was giving her more than a once-over. They approached quietly, sliding between members of the all male crowd who had gathered around the bar. The sound of a jukebox could be heard and all of a sudden the distinct thumping of drums caught Cana's attention. She smiled as she stood up on the bar.
"Oh dear god!" Abby whispered, completely shocked and appalled at her behavior.
The men started clapping along to the beat of Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" as they watched the young girl's hips sway to the music. She whipped her hair around as she strutted down the bar, knocking over drinks left and right. She giggled as she looked down at the mess she made, but continued to dance along to the music, her arms flailing to the riffs of the guitar as she wiggled her body. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the blonde head of Damon and smiled and waved flirtatiously at him. She then bent over and patted the head of a man sitting at the bar watching her.
She kept dancing down the bar, her eyes glazed over in her intoxication as she pushed her hair out of her face when she spotted a small red head bobbing through the crowd. Her face switched into a hard glare as she grabbed the first bottle she could find that she hadn't knocked over. She grabbed the bottle and chugged its contents and smashed it against the bar. She searched around for the red hair; when she did, she raised her arm back and started to jump off of the bar.
Damon watched the drunken girl's actions and immediately ran towards Abby, pushing men out of the way, earning him a few elbows to the gut along the way. He watched as the girl leapt off of the bar, flying at young Abby. A loud "Whoa" was heard as the crowd reacted to the scene. Panicking, the red head immediately put up her hands and Cana stopped in midair. Damon immediately grabbed Cana by the waist, pretending to hold her up. Abby looked frightened at Damon who nodded. Abby put her hands down, relinquishing her hold on the drunk psychopath who was threatening her with the broken beer bottle. She immediately turned and pushed her way out of the bar.
Cana violently kicked and flailed the arm that held the beer bottle in the direction of Abby's retreating form. She slammed her other fist on Damon's arms as he held her tightly to him. The men of the bar started to back away from the couple as Cana started screaming, "You come back here, you bosssy bitch! I'm not finissshed wi' you! Lemme go dammit!"
Damon reached with one arm to grab the bottle from Cana's hand, his other arm still holding tight to her. She wouldn't let go, so he grabbed and squeezed her wrist until her hold of it slacked. The bottle crashed to the ground as Damon slung the drunk girl over his shoulder and said, "I take her home. Nothing ta see an'more."
He walked out with the girl punching his back and kicking him in the stomach, but ignored the blows as he determinedly walked back to motel room and opened the door. He walked in to see Abby looking at the TV; her eyes were puffy as she sniffled.
Abby didn't dare turn around to look at them. She could hear the whining and shuffling of the other girl as she was plopped down on one of the beds.
Damon bent down to take off the girl's shoes as she tried slapping his hands away. "Ged off me!" she slurred as she quickly grew tired of hitting him and smacked his head. He ignored it as the other shoe dropped. He pulled back the sheets and started to push the girl to lie down, but she fought back, scratching at his arms and shoving him away from her, but her body reclined into the mattress. She curled herself into the pillow but gave Damon a deadly glare as her eyes started to grow heavy.
When her eyes had finally closed and her breathing steadied, he placed a trashcan by the girl's bed and went over to sit next to Abby. Abby felt the bed give under his weight as he sat down next to her. He opened up his mouth to say something, but she sniffled again and leaned over to grab him. He winced at the contact, the bruises all over his chest beginning to make their presence known. She sobbed into his shirt and his arms encircled her body, pulling her closer and leaning his head to rest on top of hers.
"I was so scared," Abby croaked out.
"Is ok," Damon whispered back. "I not let her do anyt'ing ta hurt you."
Abby swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "I was scared of what I might've done to her."
Damon said nothing but held her, rubbing her back gently.
Half an hour later, Sylar stood by the doorway of the kitchen as agents, cleaners, and medical personnel filled the apartment. They gathered the remains of the agents and Dennis and were detaining Michael and Tina. Sylar's head turned as heard one of the agents, mainly the one who had spat on him only 4 hours earlier. "Bind them good. And don't forget to have the Haitian process the woman," the agent ordered, pointing in various directions.
He went up to the agent, "You're going to erase her memories?"
The other agent sneered at him, "What do you care?"
Sylar wondered that himself. The one person who saw me as a hero, and she won't even remember it, he thought as he walked away. Another agent followed him to his car. He turned to look at the agent. He was young, thin, and completely frightened. He smiled to himself. "Yeah?"
"They told me to give you this, sir," said the young agent as he handed him a thin file, his hands trembling with fear.
"Uh, thanks," Sylar replied, taking the file. The agent quickly turned around and walked away as quickly as he could get away with before he broke into a run back to the apartment building.
He got into the car and started it. As the engine warmed up he quickly read the papers and pocketed the plane ticket to Phoenix. He was onboard the flight within an hour, and he watched as the sky change over from a powder blue, to red, to lavender as he finally landed in Phoenix. Another car was waiting for him and he quickly dropped his bag in the trunk and drove off.
He started mulling over the new details he had received before he drove to catch his flight. The group had been spotted at a Phoenix gas station, and they were almost unrecognizable. They had each dyed their hair in order to fly under the radar, but intel was able to pull up some pictures from the security cameras.
They had murdered a gas station attendant in the backwoods of Pennsylvania, but weren't sure who exactly killed him. The odds were with either of the girls: Abby's telekinetic ability to force a hole through the man's eardrums, or the more than likely sonic scream of Cana. The small vault in the gas station had been cleaned out and using the money, funded their stays at small motels and their supplies.
He traveled to a modestly priced hotel a few miles from the airport, after deciding that chasing them down completely exhausted would do him no good. As he walked into his hotel room, he plopped the stack of files on top of the night stand and loosened his tie. He opened up his bag to look for pajamas, but when he saw the standard gray ones the company had provided for him, he shoved them to the bottom of the bag and decided on a shower.
Afterwards, he lay down on the bed in his boxers, enjoying the softness of the mattress as opposed to the hard slab that served as his bed back in his cell. He pulled the sheets up to his chin and turned off the lights. He lay in the dark silence of his room, even though he could hear the sound of a headboard slamming into a wall and the whimpers of a woman in passion five doors down from him. All he heard everywhere else was the steady sounds of the other guests' snores. His body was exhausted, but his mind was still working through his plan of attack for tomorrow. His mind flashed with the photos of the dead gas station attendant, the sight of the dead agents. Even though I'm on the other side, the results are the same, he thought. Death. What am I gaining from this?
Possible protégés, the thought suddenly flashed in his mind. New toys to play with. He smiled to himself as his mind finally quieted down to let him sleep.
Cana's eyes opened slowly and quickly shut as she was blinded by the amount of sunlight that filled the quiet motel room. She tugged the blanket over her head, trying to will herself to go back to sleep, but it wouldn't come. The stillness of the room felt like it was screaming at her. All she heard was the rustling of her sheets as she tossed and turned. She finally pushed back the sheets to find that she was alone. The other bed was made and she didn't see anyone else's bags other than her own. She shot out of the bed and ran to her bag, only to find a few twenties left of the money they, never mind, she had stolen for them.
They fucking ditched me, she thought angrily. She looked at the clock on the T.V.; it was 3:30 pm. They're not coming back. Her heart skipped a beat at the realization, but her emotions switched to anger as she marched into the bathroom and took a scalding hot shower. She stood in front of the mirror as she blew her hair straight. If they dare come back, they're gonna pay.
She walked back into the room and changed her clothes. She packed everything that she had left. As she pulled the zipper of her bag closed, the door opened. She had expected it to be housekeeping, but as she spotted a flash of red and then blonde, she frowned.
Abby and Damon walked into the room smiling, both hoping that Cana would be happy with their news. Their faces fell as soon as they saw her dressed with her bags packed. She glared at them.
"You're up," Abby commented as plainly as she could.
"What are you still doing here?" Cana asked uncrossing her arms and putting a hand on her hip.
"We went out all day ta get new car," Damon replied, his thumb pointing towards the parking lot.
"Yeah," Abby piped up, "We got over $2,000 for the parts, and we got a decent used car that can get us to California."
"And you took my money?"
"Your money?"
"Yeah, my money. I'm the one who stole it, so it's mine."
"I thought that money was for all of us."
"No!" Cana retorted, utterly flabbergasted by Abby's assumption. "I was only sharing because I felt sorry for you guys."
"Sorry? You've barely done anything the whole time we've been on this trip, besides drool all over the backseat, and get trashed like you did last night!"
"Well so what? At least I know how to actually have some fun! Unlike you and weather-man over there, crying over past mistakes and throwing yourselves a pity party, I move on. I do what I want."
"Do you even have a soul, Cana? Seriously? Because all you ever think about is yourself! Damon and I weren't abandoning you like you're accusing us of! We were thinking about all of us!"
"I don't need you," Cana sneered as she grabbed her bag and made her way towards the door. Damon stood in front of the door. "Move!" she ordered.
He didn't budge. "Stop acting like little girl!"
"Fuck you, Damon! Better yet, go fuck Abby, she'd drop her panties for you in a second," Cana spat out as she tried to push him out of the way.
The anger ran through his veins, and the sound of thunder could be heard outside. His finger tips crackled with small bits of electricity as his hands reached out to stop the girl in front of him. Cana felt the volts running through her body when he shoved her onto the other bed. Her body convulsed as she quickly sat up and let out a scream that slammed Damon's body against the door and Abby onto the floor.
Abby scrambled to her knees, watching Cana grab her bag and sling it over her shoulder. Abby reached a hand out, and Cana was slammed onto the floor. Abby rose to her feet. "Fine. You wanna leave? Then leave," the red head ground out.
"Then tell your little boyfriend to get out of my way," Cana retorted as she tried to stand up on shaky legs. Besides, he really wants to fuck me. You're just jealous, she thought as she reached down to grab her bag again.
"You're just mad because I have more class than you could ever dream of having," Abby replied to the Cana's thought that had practically slapped her in the face.
Damon finally stood, restraining the urge to slap the bratty girl who was trying to leave. Cana promptly flipped them off as she exited, throwing the room key into the bathroom and slamming the door.
Cana looked at the few cars that filled the parking spaces in front of her. Deciding it didn't matter which one was theirs, she let out a roar. She flipped over a cream colored Toyota Maxima until it rested on its roof twenty feet away. She turned from the wreck in a huff and headed towards the highway on foot. I don't need them, she thought I can do it on my own, just like before.
Sylar had decided to sleep in. They shouldn't be on the move now, he thought. The file had pictures of them pushing the car they had originally stolen during the breakout. The car needs to be fixed and they won't get very far on foot. He sighed as he lay in bed, realizing the time was still passing even if he was doing nothing. That little Japanese man's power would be useful right about now, he thought as he finally got out of bed and dressed. He grabbed an apple out of the complementary fruit basket that had been left on one of the tables.
He checked out of the room and got on I-8 West, going over where they could possibly be while Bob Dylan's "Man in the Long Black Coat" played on the radio. He decided to turn off of the highway as he saw a sign for a gas station. When no attendant came out to help him, he climbed out of the car, grabbing one of the many photographs from his files, and walked into the minimart. He looked around a moment before walking over to the cashier, a woman who looked to be well over 30 with too much makeup and over the top hair.
He cleared his throat, and her head turned to look at him. "Can I help ya', sir?"
He showed her the photograph. "Have you seen these people?"
The woman took a hard look at the picture. "Yeah", she paused. "These kids went on down ta Glen's to see what he could for 'em."
"And where might Glen's be?"
"He's right over in Laguna, down da road 'bout 2 or 3 miles."
"Thank you," he replied with a small smile.
"Did they do somethin' bad?" the woman asked just as Sylar was about to turn to leave.
"Not exactly. They're from New York, and one of them took their parents' car, who reported it stolen."
"Oh, alright," the woman replied. "Best o' luck."
Sylar smiled at the woman in reply. As he walked back to the car, he shook his head a little. Like sheep, he thought.
He drove into the small town, looking for any sign of the escapees when he spotted the sign for Glen's repair shop. He pulled up to find the car they had stolen up on a flatbed truck. He walked into the shop. He heard the sound of footsteps as a man with grease smudges on his face came to the front desk. "Can I help ya'?" the man asked.
"You're Glen, I'm guessing."
"Sure am! What can I do ya' for?"
"Who's car is that on the flatbed?"
"Why? Ya' wanna buy it?'
"No, not really I-"
"I can part with it for $5,000."
"That's not necessary," Sylar replied as he took out the picture. "Are these the kids who sold you the car?"
"They stole da car," Glen stated bluntly as he quickly glanced at the photo.
"And how do you know that?"
"No keys. They prob'bly hotwired da car in da first place. Are ya' with da FBI?"
"Not exactly," Sylar replied. "Do you know where any of them might be?" He looked out of the window to see that it was starting to get dark and his chances of catching them were slimming.
"They said they was stayin' at da motel down da road," Glen said, his thumb pointing the direction.
"Thank you," Sylar said as he slipped the photo back into his suit pocket.
"If ya still want da car, jus' lemme know. I'll have it 'til tomorrow. Jus' $6,000."
Sylar shook his head as he went back to his car. He climbed in and let the car roll slowly down the road towards the motel. He found a spot in the darkness to spy on the rooms at a safe distance. He slipped the photo back into the file and the file back under the passenger's seat. All of a sudden he heard a loud slam along with screaming. A girl burst out of one of the rooms, throwing something that looked like a key back into the room before she slammed the door shut. She looked around for a moment before she roared at a cream colored car which proceeded to flip over vertically and landed yards away. The girl shook herself off and started marching up the road.
Sylar slowly turned the car on, allowing the car to creep after the girl. He allowed a full smile to take over his face. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," he said to himself as he turned down the warbling voice of Amy Winehouse's "You Know I'm No Good."