Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation ❯ I-B- Fate is an Armed Robbery ( Chapter 2 )

Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation

How these 4 `s' words are intertwined.

By Masamune Reforged

WhenShootingStarsFall.com

Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters, they are the property of Bandai, Sunrise or someone else, but not me. I use them for no-profit whatsoever, but for entertainment's gain.

Warnings: Yaoi (lots of pairings and lemons later, but nothing more than shounen-ai for right now) cursing, drug use, violence, angst, insanity, cameos, AU, lunacy, sanity.

 

Part B of “Fate Works at a 24/7 Convenience Store” Page I in the s4 arc.

“Fate is an Armed Robbery”

Quatre's POV

 

The tall gunman silenced the blaring stereo with a swift kick. I could only see one eye peeking out from a hole in his mask because a ludicrous wall of light brown hair masked the other jade orb. The crook was fully focused on the three of us; myself, the gutter trash with long hair and the whack job Japanese. No, I don't usually keep company of this kind.

 

Almost as an afterthought, the crook ordered the cashier, “Lock the door.”

 

I shifted away from the Japanese. He looked to be Japanese, but his blue eyes suggested mixed race. I didn't want to be close to that one, the one in the spotless black suit. Something malicious and primitive was fuming from every pore of his body. I remembered what he'd said earlier and weighed my hazards. Hadn't he said he was a freelance crook, among other things? Could this second crook, the one calmly pointing a gun at me, be the lesser of two evils?

 

The cashier, that idiotic, bumbling waste, had been standing behind the counter like a statue; but as he walked to the door, he began to shake like a poor tree with Parkinson's. “Th-th-th-the key's under th-the m-mat.” He was scared stupid, not like he'd had much wit to begin with.

 

Behind me the piece of gutter trash chewed his gum with smacking lips. This one had long, chestnut brown hair, tight and tattered clothes and smelled like crap. I glared at him as he snapped the gum in his mouth. He had a wide smirk on his face and his eyes seemed to dance.

 

“Get it and lock the door,” The crook commanded the cashier. There was such calm in the his tone. How was everyone so calm?

 

The cashier did and took a minute to seal the entrance with trembling hands. The crook waited patiently. He pointedly aimed the gun at one hostage, then another, then another, emphasizing his control.

 

“Now, go over there, next to the rest. No sudden movements.” The crook waved the cashier over in our direction. He wasn't smiling. His voice was monotone, but his eyes seemed sad. //He doesn't want to be doing this// Why did he do it?

 

My gaze landed on the counter, the barrier. Life was unfair; all of this trouble and all I had wanted was a smoke…

 

“You,” From under the mask's material I could see a frown form. The crook's eye narrowed, but now that we were all clustered together, I couldn't tell at whom. I prayed it wasn't me.

 

“You're familiar… have I seen you before?” The gunman asked.

 

My heart began to beat faster. Had I been recognized? The only son to the Winner fortune, I had been in magazines and newspapers in the past. I prayed that this crook was of the kind that didn't read often, and by that I mean the majority of the city's lower crust...

 

A dry lump formed in my throat and I didn't have the power to swallow it down. I wasn't frightened by having a gun pointed at me, or at the prospect of being robbed or even losing my money. This stranger, this green eyed thief, he didn't scare me. But being singled out; that was what scared me. Even though the people around me were strangers and lowlifes, I didn't want to have to deal with...

 

//'You couldn't possibly be... the Winner heir?!'. `Winner's only son.' `Oh! From the Winner family.' Always remembered only as Father's son//

 

...with that...

 

“You in the black suit, don't I know you from somewhere?” The crook asked again.

 

“Hn, it's possible,” The brown haired whack job said sullenly. “Though I have no idea who you might be.”

 

I heaved a heavy sigh of relief. The dryness in my throat, the nic tick, remained. I still couldn't swallow it down. At least I had avoided being identified so far.

 

I was stuck facing the mocking cashier's booth, right next to the entrance of the store. It was full of tabloids, lotto tickets and racks of random junkfood, all of the crap the bottom feeders wasted their welfare checks on. Somewhere behind it were my cigarettes.

 

My foot began tapping. Tap-tap. I searched the counter, then all around it and on the floor. It was the cashier's fucking fault I was in this situation. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

 

//Need your fix don't ya?//

 

Oh yeah, wondering about that voice? Just ignore him.

 

//Ignore me? Then they should ignore you//

 

Honestly, I don't know where he came from.

 

//Hahaha//

 

How fucking hard could it be to get a goddamn pack of cigarettes?

 

//You're pathetic//

 

Ignore him!

 

Tap-tap.

 

“You in the back, in the gray,” The robber was tranquil and almost polite in his tone. He kept his weapon trained on the Japanese whack job while talking to the gutter-trash. “Empty his pockets, all of it. Nice and easy. Don't leave anything in there.” The gunman patiently watched the gutter-trash rummage through the Japanese man's suit coat and pants. Tap-tap-tap.

 

I kept searching the counter top. I couldn't stop tapping and now I was chewing the bottom of my lip. Tap-tap. I needed that fucking cigarette!

 

//Baby wants his bottle?//

 

I couldn't stand it, or stop it.

 

The vagrant began to dump the things he found onto the floor: some spare change, a pair of car keys, lotto tickets and an envelope. Then he paused in his search, whispering in a barely audible hush, “Christ! Why didn't you use this thing?”

 

Tap-tap-tap. Some crumpled up papers fluttered to the floor.

 

Just a smoke...

 

//Baby Quatwa wan' his bottle? Baby gonna cwy? //

 

“Cuz you were distracting me,” The Japanese growled back.

 

//Baby wanny mommy. But... you- //

 

STOP IT!

 

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-t

 

“What are you looking over there for?” Now the crook was addressing me.

 

//You're a bad, dirty little boy, Quatre Winner//

 

I licked my lips. “Cigarettes,” I spat. “I need a fucking smoke.”

 

The crook cocked his head at me; as if it would help him get the proper perspective to figure out what I was all about. It reminded me of a dog.

 

//Charming as always. You make such a great first impression//

 

Clunk. The vagrant threw a heavy looking pistol onto the floor, the noise making me jump slightly. I heard a hiss of breath and a soft curse from the Japanese.

 

Tap-tap-tap. I had a huge report on the de Sand account due in the morning… I just needed a pack or two and I'd be set to go. Just a fucking pack…

 

The crook, to the Japanese, “You some kind of cop?” Tap-tap-tap.

 

His reply was a, “No.”

 

Tap-tap.

 

Dad had been waiting half of his life for the de Sand account to land. I had been shocked he'd given such a huge task to me.

 

//Because you certainly don't deserve it//

Tap.

//Because he knows you're a failure of a son//

 

“Kick it over here.”

 

Tap-tap. The gun slid over the skuzzy linoleum. Tap-

 

“Stop that,” The crook told me.

 

I should have stopped, but I didn't. I rolled my eyes at him and went back to looking around the counter area. Tap-tap-tap.

 

//That's right//

Tap-tap-tap.

 

“What's your problem? You want me to put some lead in that leg?”

 

//How about a crack across the jaw? Or maybe a spanking with the belt?//

 

“I said I need a fucking smoke!” I cursed loudly.

 

The vagrant muttered something about crazy, spoiled rich kids. He was pissing me off too.

 

//And of course he's right you know//

 

Tap-tap-tap. “I got caught in a late meeting and just ate. I always have a smoke after I eat.”

 

“Dude, shut up.” That cashier... I swear I could kill him.

 

//He at least earns his pay//

 

The tall masked crook gave a genuine, though soft, laugh. I hadn't thought he had it in him. He had been so serious a moment before.

 

He was cracking a grin behind his mask as he told the cashier, “Go get him his precious smokes. And grab me as many vanilla Dutchmasters and lighters as you can, and a pack of Swisher Sweets too. Alright? No funny stuff.”

 

I swallowed hard. The crook was carefully keeping an eye on the bumbling cashier and his hostages. Somehow my irritated throat was able to croak, “Make sure they're Benson & Hedges, menthols if you have them.”

 

“Holy fucking cow, you are the fuckin' most arrogant little shit ever,” The long haired vagrant was gaping at me. I reminded myself that anyone smelling as bad as he did didn't have an opinion that mattered.

 

//But he's right//

 

“You got no street smarts under that blonde mop of yours?” The gutter trash asked.

 

//Right again//

 

“Fuck you,” I was in no mood for lip from a delinquent.

 

“Stop that,” The lanky gunman barked. “Start emptying your pockets, everything onto the floor. - Except you!” He leveled the pistol sight dead between the eyes of the Japanese youth, scowling cobalt eyes… “You hang tight and don't move a muscle. And if you're not a cop, what are you?”

 

“H-here,” The cashier turned and held up...

 

! My cigarettes! The golden painted box, the ornate insignia in the dead center, the health warnings in stark, strong black ink. I tried to never read them. I was elated, like a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Despite the situation, I smiled and held out my hands like a child on a Christmas morning.

 

The cashier had certainly taken long enough! I knew they were in stock!

 

//We each know our poison best//

 

He unceremoniously tossed a pack over. I began to tear into the covering, hungrily scraping the impeding plastic away.

 

//Like a rabid mongrel on the street//

 

“Now start emptying the register into a bag, triple plastic, darkest color you got,” The crook said to the cashier. He then turned back to the Japanese man, again asking, “So, you a cop or what?”

 

“Two working stiffs don't really need to pry into each other's jobs, do they?” The Asian wacko responded bizarrely. He was nodding his head toward the far corner of the store, the beer and soda refrigerators. “Couldn't tell you much else really, if you understand me?”

 

For a minute I didn't know what he meant, then I saw it. There was a security camera hanging over there. I turned away. I didn't want to get involved with these types...

 

I whacked the front end of the cigarette pack against my wrist. Thump thump thump thump thump thump. I delivered even, controlled taps to pack the sweet tobacco down into the machine-rolled paper, to make them burn well and work out any kinks. Packing the cigarettes is a ritual. People just always do it before enjoying the first breath of bliss. In a way it's an announcement to anyone around that you're opening a fresh pack, and to attract curious glances to identify what kind of brand you smoke and if you're worth the time of day.

 

//Which you obviously are because you pay the 10 a pack…//

 

But you can't be too loud or slap too fast or hard, otherwise you look moronic. And if you're not smoking anything good…

 

“I don't see any reason for you to pry,” The Japanese youth said. “Do I really look like a cop to you?”

 

I pulled out a long, creamy, white jack, rolling it tenderly in my gloved fingertips. I inhaled deeply, greedily sucking up the odor, the clover and hickory smokiness, whetting my lips in anticipation.

 

BANG!!! Then, Szzszzszz

 

What the fuck!?!? I jump, head snapping around wildly. The loud report echoed in the small store. My heart was jumping suddenly. I sucked in a deep breath, let it out with a whoosh. I looked around to see the crook lower his gun.

 

“Now there's no camera at all.”

 

I stopped clenching my fist. My fingers loosened and let the mangled cigarette fall silently to the floor. I watched it tumble downwards, ruined and useless. I-

 

//Why am I such a fuckup like that?//

 

I bit my lip. I ground the flossed and triply brushed bone into the tiny part of flesh on the inside of my lip. The taste of blood…

 

//Look at him! He's gonna cry for his mommy! Hahaha! What a wuss! //

 

“Was that necessary?” The Japanese scoffed. He still had his composure, and a layer of sleek arrogance. “An amateur holding me up…”

 

“Get on the ground, face first with your arms stretched out,” The gangly crook didn't take well to the insult.

 

The Japanese looked cross, furrowing his brow in agitation. “What?”

 

I quietly fished another jack out of the pack. The trashy looking vagrant had emptied the content of his pockets onto the floor. Just a few dollars, gum, some coins, and a tiny wooden cross. I patted my pockets, wincing at the thought of my wallet and all the credit cards. I had no way to light up.

 

The gunman calmly repeated, “Get down, face down, on the floor with your arms stretched out and don't move.”

 

“I need a light.”

 

All eyes turned to me in looks of disbelief.

 

//Always need to be the center of attention…//

 

“You fucking serious?” The brown haired vagrant was almost laughing.

 

//Oh he is. Just you wait and see…//

 

“How am I supposed to smoke it without a light?” I shook my head at him. I was bobbing my head now, tapping the dirty linoleum. Tap-tap.

 

“There's no smoking in here.” The cashier… Tap-

 

//But you need special treatment, isn't that right? Always so eager to show how you stand above everyone else//

 

“Go get me a lighter, and take one of those Swisher Sweets out of the pack,” The gunman ordered suddenly. The cashier looked dumbfounded. I was a little shocked. “Now.” He waved the gun as a small reminder of his power.

 

The gunman turned his attention back to the whack job. The blue eyes stared at the gun from under a mess of hair without betraying a hint of emotion. The feeling in the room was saturated with edgy pressure. The two just stared at each other while I looked on and the cashier softly padded back behind the counter.

 

“I don't really give a shit who you are, but you're going to get down on this floor and stay absolutely still while I get this done or I will shoot you,” The tall crook's tone was far too neutral to be insincere. “And I will shoot to kill.”

 

A small smile flickered on the well-dressed Asian's face for a brief moment, and then was replaced by a vicious scowl. He slowly stretched his hands out and lowered himself to the floor.

 

The cashier walked over, sort of stepping around where the dark haired Japanese now lay and handed me a Bic lighter. He made to give the crook his cheap cigar, but I grabbed his shoulder.

 

I shook my head, “What is this?”

 

“A lighter,” The cashier muttered quickly.

 

“You don't have any matches?”

 

“Hahaha,” The braided boy fell into a fit of laughs.

 

//See? Spoiled rotten.//

 

“Hahaha,” Tears welled up in the corner of his amethyst tinted eyes. “Haha ooh, hooh hooh, haha, oh that's fuckin funny. Hahaha.”

 

//He's laughing at you. That sorry piece of gutter trash thinks you're a ridiculous disgrace. How can Father possibly expect you to handle the de Sand account?//

 

This was the worst day ever.

 

“Hey,” The taller gunman nudged me with the nose of his gun. “Empty out your pockets already.”

 

//I deserve this//

 

God... I had just wanted a cigarette. I had just wanted to kill the monkey on my back, but all I did was feed it with the addiction. I'd shut it up for a little while, but it'd be back, stronger.

 

THUNK.

 

A bolt of surprise and fear snaked through the masked gunman. He swirled around to face the door. Someone was coming inside. Hadn't the cashier locked it? He raised the gun and squared off. The thief glanced behind him to make sure the blue eyed Asian remained on the floor.

 

The bell on the door jangled. Ring, ring. It swung wide open.

 

“What the FUCK do you think you're doing?” The gunman demanded.

 

The unfortunate newcomer took several staggering steps into the room. His feet took random, wild steps and trips. His thin body was wavering and wobbling like a piece of Jello. Despite being winter, he was dressed only in a white wife-beater and some greyed blue-jeans. He was Asian, with dark, raven-black hair. The door shut. His pupils were so incredibly large, literally so wide that his iris were almost nonexistent. His eyes were a dark, coal-like opal. He stared around, swaying like a silk sheet in the wind.

 

For some reason his eyes landed on me. He was dripping with sweat. Those opal orbs were filled with confusion and… I wondered, `What the hell was wrong with this guy?'

 

“I don't feel so good,” He mumbled.

 

And threw up all over the floor.

 

-end Quatre's POV.

-end “Fate is an Armed Robbery” Part B in Page I of

Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation

 

Next: “Fate is Tripping on Drugs”

 

-feedback to MasamuneEHS@hotmail.com Hope you liked.

 

ID Notes: All five of the main characters are here now. Trowa is obviously the robber and yes Wufei is tripping on drugs.