Work Text:
I was relaxing on Vespucci Beach after my daily morning jog, reading my book. The sun was on its way into the sky before the city behind me had even thought about beginning its hooker-fucking, drug-dealing day.
As I was just getting to a good part in my book, I heard a sound. It began as a small purr and quickly grew to become the loudest mechanical roar I had ever heard. I stood and looked up. The growing noise accompanied a rapidly approaching airplane. The huge machine was coming in hot, with no obvious intentions to change direction.
What…the fuck?
The jet was growing in size as it advanced toward the beach. I realized it wasn’t just any jet, it was the newly released Buckingham Luxor Deluxe private jet. Holy fuck. The big gold-plated monstrosity was the size of several city buses and shone as bright as a ray of sunlight. The sound was deafening as the unknown pilot lowered the landing gear of the rocketing plane. Eventually, it touched down on the hard sand of Vespucci Beach and rolled to a stop.
There I stood in disbelief, jaw dropped, book discarded, earbuds dangling uselessly from my pocket blaring David Bowie into the hot sand at my feet. I watched as the golden fucking plane came to a halt at the water’s edge, the right wing narrowly avoiding a lifeguard shack. The vehicle stopped and the first figure I saw emerge was an obviously intoxicated man wearing a backpack patterned like the British flag. He stumbled from the obnoxious machine’s door making some kind of bird noise.
“Ah, I just jumped into the ocean!” a surprised British voice made itself heard over the roar of the jet engine. Another man, just as drunk, followed falling out of the doorway over the steps, laughing at the first’s mistake.
The plane then began reversing back in the direction of the city. I still stood watching, as the men who exited bounced off the shining sides of the plane like pinballs in a machine, but still remained seemingly unharmed as they lumbered drunkenly about the beach like apes. When the pilot had righted the plane parallel with the bay, he made his way calmly down the stairs, drawing an AP Pistol from the back of his jeans.
“Alright, so we’ll leave this here for now.” The leather jacket-clad pilot announced to his crew as he exited the craft.
Suddenly, a new sound was on its way; a lighter engine accompanied by an overpowering whooping noise. I turned and saw a sleek silver and black helicopter also coming in for a landing on the beach. This, I recognized as the luxury helicopter, usually parked upon the Galaxy Super Yacht. Man, these are a classy bunch of dudes.
That was when I put two and two together. This was a bizarre meeting between the members of the Fake AH Crew. The pilot was MLP Michael, running under his new alias, MJones. He was one of the highest-ranking officials in the notorious street gang. The two drunkards that tottered from the plane were known as GavinoFree and JDoolz.
“Sup bois!” JackP called as he landed the chopper on the beach amongst the crew.
I was so blown away by seeing them in person and out of the blue, that I didn’t even register MJones speaking to me.
“Hey, dickhead!” MJones pushed my chest leaving bloody fingerprint stains on my chest, “Anyone home? Hey!”
“Uh, uh… Yeah, hi?” I said lamely. He rolled his eyes and told me “Hey listen, dickhead on the beach, don’t touch my fucking jet.”
“Yeah it was 10 million dollars,” GavinoFree called as he boarded the chopper.
MJones agreed, following him in, “Yeah it was 10 mill and my boss bought it for me, so don’t put any scratches on it!”
Then they were gone.
I stood still, just looking back and forth from the rapidly disappearing helicopter to the gold-plated aircraft parked yards away from me.
What the fuck just happened?