Chapter Text
Once, there was a crow who wanted to cook his food, rather than eating it raw. So he tricked the Pleiades, the women who protected the ancient fire of old, and stole it. Soon, his cooking attracted other birds who wanted a share of his loot. Agitated and overwhelmed, he threw the fire at them and the surrounding trees, burning the forest and himself coal-black.
He isn’t nervous.
He has at this point done this job for so many years now that he is barely thinking about it anymore. He doesn’t need to think about it. There is the clock, for one thing, ticking away in front of him and in his thoughts, simultaneously. No, he isn’t nervous but the constant ticking still has him high-strung and alert - as he usually is.
He taps his fingers against the wheel as a female voice pops up from the police scanner to his right. — what is your current location? Repeat, what is your current location?
Tick tock tick tock.
The radio of the car is muffled against the sound of the scanner, so he turns it up. The announcer is excitedly shouting names of players from a game he couldn’t possibly care less about, personally. Of course it is important, so he listens intently, repeats the names in his head, makes them the most prominent thing in his mind for the next few minutes. Those minutes are all that matter and the clock in front of him tells him as much.
You give me a time and a place, I give you a five minute window. Anything that happens in those five minutes and I’m yours, no matter what. Anything happens outside of those minutes.. you’re on your own.
Tick tock tick tock.
Sirens blare as a masked figure comes running out of the store he’s parked in front of. The guy is carrying a bag, so he reaches back and opens the door for him. He still isn’t nervous, no, but the clock keeps ticking, seconds flying by, opportunities about to be wasted. Lives to be thrown away, if they don’t hurry. Not that he cares too much, if at all.
Tick tock tick tock.
Five minutes are almost over. Another unbelievable three pointer from Davis and the Clippers are within five! The guy in the back seems tense, as he looks out the car for his partner, muffled words under his breath, face masked in black, chanting ‘Come on, come on, come on...’
Just at that moment, a second figure comes running out the store, carrying another big bag. He gets into the second back seat of the car, as the clock stops ticking and the time runs out. ‘Go, go!’ The driver’s cue to get the hell away from there, so he steps on the gas.
LA is a beautiful city, especially at night, Dave thinks. He’s always liked the lights of the buildings, blinking away in the distance. His leather gloves tense as he grips the wheel tighter, the acceleration pushing him back into his seat. Attention all units, 211 superstore on Traction Avenue, suspects headed Eastbound on 1st Street, driving a Silver Impala...
When he sees the flashing lights of a police car, he’s able to quickly step on the brakes and halt behind a truck. Just in time. He waits till the car passes, presses on the gas again and keeps going. Takes a turn, and ends up right behind the police car that’s looking for him. The car doesn’t notice him, turns left and passes. He turns right. Any sign of that Silver Impala?
The clock in front of him may have stopped ticking, but never the clock inside his head. It keeps going, counting the seconds he will need in order to rid himself of this whole affair. He’s a coward deep down, he knows, but that’s just how it’s done and how it always has been done. He will be fine like this, he knows.
Sudden bright lights overwhelm him, even through his shades. Silver Impala heading west - - - Great. A helicopter. He puts his foot down hard again, seat pushing into him. Just then, he’s able to turn, towards that underpass he knows will hide him away. We lost visual on suspect - - - He waits a bit, but not too much - time is still ticking away, it is not yet done, it needs to get done.
He’s not nervous, he thinks, as he gets on the road again.
Maybe he’s a bit nervous, he revaluates, when a police car across him sounds its sirens and speeds up towards him. It’s a very close call, as he drives past cars and turns corners at dangerously high speeds. He tries to tune in to the radio again - Thornton pulls up from behind the arc, misses. Rebound New York. One eighteen to play… - and knows this is his cue. He’s almost there, as he turns one more corner and speeds up. Almost time. ...Thirty seconds remaining and all the Knicks have to do is run out the clock…
Tick tock tick tock, the clock inside his head goes.
Aaand… four, three, two, one! Incredible! The Los Angeles Clippers win the game!
His tires screech as he drives down the ramp into the garage. Fans emerge from the staircases of the building, grins on their faces and their hands up in the air. Most parking spaces are taken, but a few fans are already driving out, so he soon finds a suitable spot. There are two caps lying on the passenger seat, an LA Clippers and a Toronto Raptors one, so he takes the first one and puts it on just as he leaves the car. He can feel the guys in the back boring questioning gazes into him but he doesn’t really care what they do, he is done.
When he leaves the car park, he forces on a smile as he passes the cops and lowers his shades a bit for good measure.
------------------
His new apartment is okay, he thinks. Not too expensive, pretty central, no loud neighbors. People leave him be, which he is incredibly thankful for. There is nothing he craves more than peace and quiet, even if his life isn’t usually peaceful and quiet.
He parks his car in his usual spot and puts on his jacket, white with a black crow on the back, before stepping out.
When the apartment elevator reaches the second floor, the doors open and reveal another resident, holding a laundry basket under his left arm. He’s wearing a dark blue zip-up hoodie, with a grey shirt underneath and washed out jeans. His hair is curly and black and the frames of his glasses look way too big for his face.
“Hi,” the guy smiles as he steps in, front teeth flashing through.
“Sup.”
He’s seen the guy before, once or twice. They live on the same floor, he thinks, next door even maybe.
The elevator accelerates upwards again, while the stranger stands next to him, silent.
“Oh, I didn’t press anything cause that’s my floor too, actually!” Dave almost flinches, he wasn’t expecting any more words to be exchanged.
He glances carefully into his direction. The basket is between them, there are hoodies and shirts that look similar to the stuff the guy is currently wearing, but there are also socks and shirts that look like they would fit a small child, maybe. Adult-sized leggings too, and a short cerulean skirt.
He’s not sure what to reply to that, so he doesn’t and focuses on staring ahead instead.
“We live on the same floor, right?”
An unnecessary clarification, where else would he need to go except to his own apartment? His shades have slipped down his nose a bit, so he pushes them up with a gloved hand as he nods and hums affirmatively.
“That’s.. good, heh. It’s always good to know your neighbors.”
The guy seems to be becoming increasingly disheartened by Dave’s lack of responses, so he throws him a bone and turns towards him. “Yeah.”
His neighbor lights up again. “I’m John!” he smiles and extends a hand.
“Dave.”