The clattering of dishes and silverware could be heard throughout the restaurant, metal against metal, ceramic against ceramic. There are a few people loitering in the main room, but the majority of the business's occupants are currently staff running about preparing for the lunch-hour rush.
Two men in a pair of black suits sit at a table towards the rear of the establishment, each nursing a cup of coffee. One holds a television remote in his other hand, regularly switching through the channels on the small set hanging above the lunch counter to the one side of the room. He lets out an exasperated breath as he lets the hunk of plastic clatter to the table, finally giving up on finding something decent to watch.
The screen displays a fancy graphic, a slanted "AT" with a line that shoots out of the "T" and loops back around, forming an incomplete circle. A soft feminine voice is barely heard over the sounds of the staff moving about in the kitchen.
"The newest smartphone from A-Tech is here - Finally, one place to unify all your all your devices…"
The man who hadn't been searching the channels gestures towards the television with his mug, his other hand resting on the table lazily. Coffee miraculously doesn't spill out onto his friend. "You know, I've heard about those - They're supposed to be 'the shit'," he says while adding air quotes around his descriptor with his free hand.
"Careful," his companion chastises, flinching as if he was about to get hot coffee sloshed all over himself. He settles back into his chair and nods. "Yeah. I heard that too. Supposed to be able to link up your computers and your smart TV's and whatever right out of the box."
The other man nods thoughtfully and directs his attention over towards the kitchen. "Hey Jim?"
"Yeah Frank?" A voice yells back from the kitchen, before a younger man also clad in a black suit sticks his head through the door.
"What time did the boss say he was getting in?"
"Dunno - Around lunch, probably? Doesn't he usually get here just in time to grab a cannoli for lunch?
The other suited man at the table chimed in. "How more stereotypical can you get," he said while suppressing a snicker of amusement.
The sounds of the city outside could be briefly heard as the front door to the shop opened up and a young blonde girl stepped in. She carried a package under one arm and held a clipboard in the other hand, wearing the cargo pants and brown shirt of a generic delivery service.
"Delivery," she announced, wiggling the package under her arm.
"Over here, sweetheart." Jim stepped into the main room and motioned to the girl, walking to meet her halfway right next to the lunch counter.
The two men at the table smile and chuckle bemusedly, turning back to their respective coffees.
The blonde girl lays the brown box she was holding onto the polished white surface of the counter and holds out the clipboard and a pen to the young man. "Can you sign for this?"
Jim gives her a small smile and takes both from her, quickly signing his name. "Sure can, sweetheart." He hands the two objects back to her.
"Thank you very much, sir." She takes the clipboard and clips the pen to it, but is stopped by a hand on her shoulder as she turns to leave.
"Hey, it's about lunchtime - Why don't you stay and grab a little something with me?"
The girl turns, displaying an honest smile all the while peeling his hand off of her shoulder finger by finger. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got places to be." Giving him no chance to respond, she turns once more and walks to the door, not even hesitating for a moment before pushing through and leaving him in her dust.
The young man watches her go and scratches his chin as he speaks to no one in particular. "Jeez, what was her problem?"
"Never touch a woman without her permission." The thoughtful response comes from the table behind him.
"Shut up, Harry."
Out from the street, the scream of an engine and screeching tires can be heard as a vehicle comes to an abrupt halt.
"What the - ?" Frank begins as all three men turn towards the large glass window pane lining the front of the restaurant. A gray van with darkened windows can be seen sitting in the center of the street, blocking traffic.
The engine revs and the wheels wildly spin as the vehicle speeds towards the window.
"Oh shit!" Frank shouts as the men whip pistols out from under their jackets, pointing them at the advancing gray form.
The muffled sound of "Dixie" can be heard through the glass right before the van crashes through the window, sending shards of shattered glass all across the floor. It doesn't stop moving until it slams into the back wall, resulting in a solid 'crunch' as it makes contact with the construction of wood and plaster.
Surprisingly, none of the men were hurt. All of them had jumped out of the way however, resulting in one of them sprawled out over the lunch counter. All three recovered, simultaneously pointing their guns at the gray metal heap smashed into the back of their place of business.
"Somebody check it."
"I'm not checking it, you check it!"
"Well somebody has to check it," came Frank's voice, more imposing and loud than the other two.
They all three exchanged a glance and moved in on the vehicle, pistols at the ready.
All three of them were surprised when the van suddenly exploded, a shock wave followed by small plumes of flame erupting from the windows on either side of the vehicle.
Each of the men was knocked flat on their ass, summarily losing their breath and their balance.
The van was now a burning wreck of a vehicle, smoke billowing out of the sides and pooling against the ceiling. This was more than enough to trigger the sprinkler system, which instantly drenched everything in the room.
Shouting could be heard from the kitchen as the three men in the main room each tried and failed to get up, finding little available traction on the soaking wet floor.
The sounds of gunfire suddenly ripped through the restaurant, a few plates and glasses abruptly shattering. With renewed vigor, the trio flopping about in the water-soaked mess shot to cover, one hopping over the counter and two pressed up against an overturned table.
"Harry, call the boss!" Jim had to shout to be heard from behind the counter and over the continuous rattle of gunfire.
"Yeah I'm on it," he shouted back as he whipped out his phone and dialed.
The phone rang a few times, then connected. "Yes?" The voice was raspy, tired, and annoyed.
"Boss, it's Harry - We're at Benny's -" He had to shout and stuff his finger in his other ear to hear and be heard.
Harry was cut off before he could continue. "Why are you calling... And what the hell is that ruckus?"
"Boss, it's the restaurant -" His coffee mug rolled up next to him and with a loud crack from nearby it suddenly shattered. He hugged the back of the table closer. "We're under attack!"
Elsa gave a small smile when she heard the telltale sounds of a firefight from behind her, things playing out exactly as she had hoped. She retreated further into the alley she had taken cover in, proceeding towards the shiny blue motorcycle leaned up against the wall of one of the buildings.
She found her coat and hoodie exactly where she had left them, draped over the shiny leather seat of the bike. After quickly tugging them both on, she righted the vehicle and threw her leg across it. With a firm twist of the throttle, the bike's engine roared and she smoothly coasted out the other side of the alley.
Traffic had come to a halt in the area, a combination of the upcoming lunch-hour rush and the nearby commotion. Elsa had anticipated this, and she was more than prepared. Pulling out into the street, she glided into the nearest opening between the cars. Deftly, she navigated the spaces in between the vehicles, her smaller form providing a distinct advantage over the other motorists.
It didn't take long to get out of the downtown area, just a few minutes later she was riding down the significantly less populated streets of the city's residential district. She came to the next turn and slowed as a convoy of black SUVs rolled past, just barely keeping under the speed limit. Right on time.
Elsa came to a stop, flicking her kickstand out with her foot and quickly hopping off the bike. She hit the sidewalk in a run, sprinting straight for a space between the two closest buildings. She looked to her left and spotted a drainpipe. Gripping it with both hands and using her knees, she shimmied up until she could look behind her and see the second floor window of the adjacent townhouse. Squaring herself against the wall, she pushed off hard and leapt towards the other building, reaching out and grasping the edge of the window sill with her fingers.
Pulling herself up and digging her heels into the brick, she peered inside. Elsa quickly ducked just as a man clad in yet another black suit passed by the window. Shit, that was close.
She took in a deep breath and hoisted herself up, teetering just on the edge of the thin piece of wood. Gripping the bottom of the window, she tugged hard. Thankfully, it wasn't locked. Sliding it open with ease, she knelt down and slipped through.
Elsa landed on her feet, quiet as a cat. The man was just turning around when she slunk down the short hall and around the corner. She counted the rooms in her head, coming to a stop at the third door on the right. Unremarkable, it was a plain white door just like any of the others. What hid behind it was more important than anything else in the house, however. She twisted the knob and looked around before sliding inside.
The room was cluttered, a few folding tables were scattered carelessly about, some half-eaten sandwiches and used ashtrays littered their surfaces. The security team that had been occupying them clearly had left in a hurry. Elsa strode over to the one desk in the room, a single computer settled atop it. She sat down and began furiously typing, her face scrunched in determination as she began breaking through its simple security system. Once she was past that, she jammed a small thumb drive into the front of the machine and watched as it began dumping its important files onto the device.
The hard part over, she stood and walked over to the nearby file cabinet, quietly pulling open the drawers. Elsa searched each in turn, a satisfied grin spreading across her face when she found what she was looking for. A simple tan-colored folder, it was unassuming in nature. The knowledge it held inside was invaluable, however.
The computer behind her made a noise, indicating the files had finished transferring. Elsa's grin grew wider as she settled herself back in the seat, preparing to clean up after herself. She pulled the small flash drive out, typing a few commands and making it as though she had never even been here. Checking the time, she pulled a phone from her pocket and sent the already typed text message before wiping it down and placing it on the desk.
Her job done, she prepared to get up and make her way out of the house. That was when she heard the door swing open behind her.
"What the hell is going on here?!"
Heavy footsteps sloshed through the small pools of water that had gathered on the floor of the restaurant. A big man with a rounded belly had entered the establishment, he sported a light gray suit and blood red tie, his head was topped with hair clearly graying from age. Despite this, he carried an air of authority and his bellowing voice certainly backed it up.
He stared intently at the hunk of metal that served as a centerpiece to the chaos, embedded in the back wall. The burning wreck of a van had long since been extinguished and the sprinklers had been shut off a while ago, but the evidence of the event remained. Frank stuck his head out from behind his small source of cover and shouted in the direction of the group of men flowing into the restaurant. "Boss, get down!"
The older man glanced in his direction, his expression clearly show unamused he was. The crack of a gunshot resounded throughout the room and every man except the 'boss' flinched or ducked behind something. Narrowing his gaze on the lunch counter, he walked with purpose until he was standing before the brown package resting atop it. The brown cardboard had been soaked by the torrential downpour of the sprinklers, but was just barely intact enough to conceal its contents.
Unceremoniously he ripped open the ruined box and revealed what was inside for all to see. It was a small collection of circuits and wires, a single antenna sticking out of the top. A green light lit up on the device and it rattled while the sound of another gunshot rang out. Outside, the front windshield of nearest SUV cracked.
They were all to say the least, somewhat surprised - and their faces showed it. He dropped the device to the floor and crushed it underfoot. A final burst of gunfire was cut in half by a loud screech of static, the sound of an announcer commenting on a sports game suddenly filled everyone's ears. A few of the men present looked to the television hanging above the counter, and one of them looked up at the speaker hanging over his head.
No one had any words to fill the stunned silence, and they were offered a reprieve by the sounds of sirens wailing down the street. The congested traffic around the block having been cleared, several police cars came to a stop just outside the building. A few men in uniform stepped cautiously through the broken window, careful to avoid the shattered glass. The men behind cover tucked away their guns before the officers could see them and stood displaying their hands to show they held no ill intent. A single man with slicked back black hair and a long overcoat made his way past the policemen and didn't stop until he was standing just before the 'boss'.
"Mister Savignano," he stated, the look on his face none-too-pleased.
"Detective Bellwood," the older man acknowledged, his own expression reflecting how little desire he held to be speaking with the detective.
"Well… This is a new one even for you," the man gestured generally to the destruction of the restaurant, as if what he referred to needed clarifying.
A low chuckle rumbled up from Savignano's belly. "Are you suggesting that I'd destroy my own place of business, detective?" He quirked his brow, clearly amused at the assertion.
Bellwood didn't look as though he found any humor in the situation. "I don't really know what in the hell lengths criminals will go to these days. This city's falling apart - in no small part due to your organization." He jabbed a finger at the crime boss's chest.
"Are you here to charge me with something, detective? Or can we discuss instead the destruction of my restaurant and assault on my employees?" Savignano's face betrayed his declining interest in the conversation.
"I just might -" The detective paused as his phone made an unusually loud noise from his pocket. He held up a single index finger and pulled it out, glancing at the text message he had received. Next to him, Savignano crossed his arms and frowned. Bellwood narrowed his eyes and re-read the text, just making sure it said what he thought.
"Walk with me," he simply stated, sliding the phone back into his pocket. Motioning for two officers to follow him and with Savignano in tow, he headed into the kitchen.
The place was clearly abandoned, the staff probably having no desire to get in the middle of a firefight. Food was still cooking on the stoves and several kitchen utensils had been left scattered about. Paying no mind to any of this, the detective approached the large freezer left with its thick metal door hanging wide open and stepped inside. Behind him, Savignano's face went white.
Sitting flush against the back wall, was an open crate containing several plastic covered bricks of a powdery white substance. Bellwood couldn't help but grin as he turned around, seeing the pure rage spreading across the crime boss's face.
"I'm being set up, this isn't -"
"Donald Savignano," Bellwood began, speaking over the disgruntled man. "You're under arrest for possession of a controlled substance. Anything you say can and will be held against you. You have the right to an attorney…"
A/N: I got sick! ;-; And then I had real life to worry about and stuff… I'm really sorry about the delay… I'm totally writing the next chapter while this uploads, though!