Shaw stormed into his workplace ten minutes late. The jingle of the bell attached to the door alerted the occupying customers and staff of his ubiety. He cringed in place, wishing he'd remembered to come in the back entrance to avoid this same situation. From across the room, blocked by long, large racks of various CD's, his boss, Lou Samson, took notice of his employee's late arrival. In seconds, Lou was migrating around the customers, heading directly for the young teen's position.
"Shaw, where the hell have you been? You're late again!" Lou bellowed, shifting about his thick mustache as if it was itchy.
Shaw leisurely peeked at the clock on the wall. "With all due respect, Lou, it's only ten minutes. And I don't exactly live in town."
"That's ten minutes I had without the employee I'm paying. Ya know, that's all I ever hear from you anymore, Anders…excuses. I know your situation, kid, but I gotta tell you that this crap with you being late all the time is really starting to get old. You get me?"
Shaw's expression told a million stories of this exact same conversation. It wasn't the first time they've had it, nor would it be the last, and when it was all over, both people would be sick of the other's company. But Shaw played his part and pretended to give a damn about some aimless complaint about him. Lou wasn't all bad, though. A tough prick, yes, but he always seemed to give Shaw the other chance he needed, whether he deserved it or not. "Yeah, I know, Lou. It won't happen again."
Though Lou looked far less than convinced, he still managed to bite his tongue from any further preaching. "It better not. Now get behind the counter, it's your turn as cashier."
Shaw did as he was told without interfering. Quietly, he rounded the edge of the checkout counter and slumped in posture against its smooth surface. None of the store patrons seemed finished with their browsing; this gave Shaw time to admire the outside. The town folk were abundant today, as the streets were filled with them. A meager population to any out-of-towners, but the mass was considerable to anyone who lived in Slateburg. A group of teenagers then passed by the shop window, carrying their backpacks tightly around their shoulders. No doubt they were skipping class for the day.
Shaw sighed under his breath and looked away. If life was fair, he would be one of them right now, but as most already knew, life was one cold chick. The whole thing soured his mouth, matching the sink of his heart. He felt angry inside, but there was nobody to blame for it. No parents, no friends, no one at all. The chime of the belled door rang out again, waking Shaw from his own self pity. Twisting his upper body to greet the new purchaser, Shaw found there to be two of them, and both were awkwardly staring his way. They didn't speak a word, only stared in complete silence.
Robbers were the first conclusion to come to mind, and just his luck, this place didn't have any iron stored away close by. Hell, he'd settle for a rinky-dinky alarm system button. Sadly, they had neither. The two customers staring at him weren't local, that much Shaw already knew. They were male, dressed head to toe in clothing styles you couldn't find in town. If that wasn't a dead giveaway, the fact that they wore Rolex watches on their wrists would be plenty enough. One was short and bald, but stocky; the other was gaunt and had hair damn near his ass. They were like two sides of a coin.
Shaw challenged their stare with one of his own, showing no fear to the plausible thieves. With one step planted, the two men routed towards the checkout counter, never breaking sight with Shaw. It didn't take long before they were face to face with the young rebel. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" Shaw asked with a subdued manner.
The bald, bulky one scanned Shaw with his eyes before answering. "Yeah, we're looking for someth'in violent." He said with a slight snarl. "You know something that gets the blood pump'in."
To him, Shaw's suspicions to not trust them were confirmed now. In a slow rise, Shaw straightened upward, bulging his built arms and chest aggressively. "Well, I'm afraid we don't carry anything like that here. Maybe you should try Bixby. It's the next town over."
The skinny man took notice of Shaw's dominant attitude and chuckled to himself. "Hey Slab, I don't he wants us in here."
"I think your right, George." The bulky one, now titled 'Slab' said back to his friend, George, before turning a scowl to Shaw. "Is that true, punk? Do you want us gone?"
Shaw imagined pulling them both over the counter and throwing a beating that would make God turn away in disgust. But instead, he played it cool…as much as it killed him to. "Look, if you guys aren't going to buy anything, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."
Slab and George cackled in tune. It wasn't clear if this was the sign before they attack or if this whole fiasco was just one big joke to them. Slab then suddenly broke away from his guffawing and smacked his hand against the counter top, cracking it under sheer force. Shaw took the offensive and brought his fists up at the ready, wondering nervously how he was able to do that. All attention within the establishment focused at the front, shocked by the clap of thunder that had just roared in the close vicinity.
Though a fight appeared evident, neither Slab nor George moved to strike. They just snickered snidely and made a retreat for the entrance door, throwing out a "See you later, punk." as they left.
Lou's warm breath then swirled up the back of Shaw's neck as he came up beside him. "What the hell was that all about?" He inquired, seeing Slab and George take one more glance back at Shaw before crossing the street outside.
"Just some troublemakers, Lou." Shaw said with doubt. Their motive for entering the store wasn't clear, and that aggravated Shaw. At first, he thought them to be robbers, but now he could've sworn they came in for the sole reason of pushing his buttons. But 'why?' is the question. What did they have to gain in angering him? Brushing off his initial paranoia, Shaw felt the fissured handprint where Slab shattered the counter. No man could've done this, no normal human that is.
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Slab and George strolled with purpose down the road, cutting off traffic as they pleased. The drivers dared not yell out profane remarks. These men did not look the like the sort to piss off. Strafing into a small diner just around the corner, both vandals met with another man sitting down at a booth overlooking Lou's CD shop. He sat silently even after Slab and George had already joined him. His long strands of pinkly dyed hair hid half his face, unable for anyone to get a clear picture of him. For moments abound, no one spoke a word until the third man decided it was time. "Is it him?" He said low in volume.
"Not sure yet, Ruckus. We tried to tempt him into using his powers, but he didn't go for it." Slab reported with disappointment. "Maybe he ain't the hit?"
"Or maybe he's just clever. It looked like he was on to us from the moment we stepped inside." George added.
Ruckus, the third of the bunch, took his underlings' information with a grain of salt. He knew not what to believe as of yet, but he also knew not make any assumptions as well. "We'll continue watching him. If all else fails, we'll attack. He'll have no choice to but to use his powers then...if he has any."
"What if we're wrong, Ruckus? What if this kid ain't the guy we've been sent to squash?"
Ruckus casually stirred the cup of coffee at his fingertips before sipping the warm liquid into his mouth and returning to stir it. "Then we keep looking as per our contract. But I'd sooner die than believe Ramrod is wrong about this. He has a sense with nature that neither of us can hope to comprehend. If he says this kid is the one, then he's the one. It's only a matter of getting him to show it."
