Byron O'Dell, 3/17/09 12:18 PM

Sighing I look at my watch. 12:18 PM. I can’t believe this shit. I throw down the kickstand on my bike, and stand up as I cut the engine and pull the keys from the starter. Stepping over the seat, I start walking along the rows of shops and cafes in the long strip center.

I parked at the opposite end of where I needed to be so that Erik could get in before me and take a look around, see if he could figure out who this Jason Peter’s guy is.

That was four minutes ago. He still hasn’t called. I make my way past a small Tex Mex place; the smell of fajitas makes my stomach rumble. I haven’t eaten yet today, maybe I’ll stop in there after this mess is sorted out.

I pull my phone from my pocket to make sure I haven’t missed any calls. Nope. I bet he forgot, the guy’s taken too many blows to the head he never gets anything right!

I punch in his speed dial number and hold the phone up to my ear, it rings twice before he picks up. “Hey bro! I thought you were right behind me?”

Yup he forgot, “Yo, you were supposed to scope the place out and give me a call!”

There is a momentary pause, “Oh Right, right, right, right, I forgot man, you know me, I’m still not awake really…”

I wait to see if he is goingto say anything more and when he doesn’t I grit my teeth as I speak, “Well… Can you figure out who he is?!”

“Who, who is?”

I pull the phone away from my mouth and resist the urge to smash it in frustration and I breath in deep letting my nerves calm. “The Reporter… can you tell who is the reporter?”

“Ohhh, I don’t know dude there are a lot of people in here. Man you should see the rack on this blonde chick behind the counter though..”

My ears perk up and I stop in place a small smile forming on my lips, “Oh yeah? She pretty hot then?” I allow the momentary distraction, there’s always time for chicks, especially hot ones.

“Yeah dude, kinda a but-her-face though. Hold on she’s trying to take my order.” He pulls the phone away and I hear him shouting something about aTall Mocha something or other and a few pick up lines that are none too clever or tactful. Got to hand it to him though, he tries. He finally puts the phone back to his ear, “Don’t bother man she’s stuck up.”

Laughing I respond, “Right I’m sure it has nothing to do with you talking about her on the phone with me while standing right in front of her dumb ass, but anyways we’ll deal with her in a bit, what about the reporter, see anyone funny looking?”

“Naw bro, like I said just a bunch of people, I’ll grab us a table. This guy will find you I guess.”

I start walking again and notice a Black Chrysler 300 parked in the lot ahead of me, nice car. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it if I didn’t notice the man sitting in the drivers seat watching my every move. That’s got to be him; I smile confidently and pick up the pace. Got ya!

“Sure bro I think I see him anyways ill see you in a sec.”

I look over at the man as I pass his car and remember his face, older, short white hair military style haircut, thick black sunglasses and a black suit. Looks more like James Bond or something than a reporter, but at least now I wont be surprised when he comes to interview me. I think about walking up to the car, but decide it’s better just to let him think I still don’t know who he is.

Entering the Star Bucks I look around for Erik. I spot him at a table in the back and push through the heavy crowd to him. I pull a seat from the other side of the table and turn it around to sit in it backwards.

He nods at me then motions towards the girl at the serving counter. I turn to look and eye the blonde up and down; damn she does have an ugly face… nice tits though. I grin and turn back towards him for a second then look out the window to see if the man has gotten out of his car yet, but he hasn’t. I shrug and think about getting up to get a coffee. Erik starts talking about how the waitress reminds him of some girl he met at the party last night but I’m only half listening, I just want this guy to get in here and get this over with.

I look back to the car again, but it’s gone now. What the hell? I was sure that was him… Is this some kind off set up?

My thoughts are interrupted when a sausage like finger taps on my shoulder. I turn around to see a stubby little fat man standing behind me, his hair is receding worse than George Costanza’s and his round nose is red along with his cheeks. He sports a small mustache and is dressed in a well-worn tan suit.

“Excuse me Mr. O’Dell, I’m Jason Peters from the sun, would you care to join me for a few minutes?” He taps the small black briefcase he is holding and his lips spread into the vilest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. Damn it, this sucks.