6½ Years Later
Angelo stepped through the bar as silently as a ghost would, weaving through the flashing red lights and booming music with ease. He kept his head down, and his small height of only 5'2" (157 centimetres) would have made anything think that he would have a hard time getting through the crowd and have become lost. However, he moved like a siren in the open sea, with little to no trouble at all.
He wore a black mask over his nose and mouth, being simple cloth – like one would have done during Covid. In the year 2037, Covid was indeed something that the populace knew about, but most gave no reaction to it when it was mentioned. They either changed the subject or simply did not care; that was how it was, with people being fully affected or not at all. Many died during those years, and yet for Angelo, it was the only reason he survived in a normal life until he was thirteen years old.
The rest of Angelo's outfit consisted of a black hoodie that hid a normal darkly coloured T-shirt underneath it, along with simple baggy jeans and steel-toed boots. He looked invisible, with most of his features hidden. To anyone that paid attention in this dingy bar, though, they knew not to let their eyes linger on him for long. Angelo was a person of great danger, and anyone that looking at him the wrong way would feel the flames of his rage… that was the rumour, anyway.
Meanwhile, his features consisted of a nice olive undertone on almond skin, and curly brown hair peaking out from under his hood. Messy, being just a little too short to be considered long, and a little too long to be considered short. He had these very bright amber eyes, which almost acted like they were slightly glowing golden in any form of light. Like the embers of a flame.
Angelo was in this bar to deliver a message, and the person that message was for, happened to be blowing his cash that he owed to other people on beer bottles and a pool game. Honestly, Angelo wasn't surprised by that; most of the people he was sent to rough up were usually ones who refused to pay. Tonight he was just a delivery boy: not meant to take the cash, just send a message.
The man was a balding pale guy with a beer gut and an overly stained white tank top, eyes dizzy with alcohol and a shit eating grin as he lined up his last shot. His tongue pressed into his cheek with severe focus, staring at the solitary eight ball remaining on the far left corner from him.
"Side pocket," He called.
As he stared down the ball, he refused to even blink. With a smooth stroke, quick and precise, the cue ball rolled forward. It kissed the eight ball just right, and started rolling. The gathered ball was silent for half a second as it lazily rolled closer to the side pocket, and before it could lean its clean shot… Angelo swiped it up.
People immediately started to boo, jeer, and get angry enough to yell, "Awe, come on!" Angelo simply bounced the ball in a single hand as he approached the man who called the shot, amber eyes glaring into him like sparks in a flame. He stopped bouncing the ball and reached into his pocket, tossing him a black card with white sharpie writing on it. Then he leaned on the table, watching as the man looked between him and the card, then scowled and snatched it up angrily.
"Payment?" He barked in disbelief.
Immediately, people proceeded to scatter. The man was left alone as others wander off and muttered to each other, while two people stood a safe distance away behind the man. He wasn't much taller than Angelo, but he still stepped forward to hover over him with balled fists anyway. Despite that, Angelo didn't look away, didn't back up… didn't even flinch. Still, that man looked ready to deck him, but he knew this guy was all bark and no bite.
"Fuck off," He spat.
He flicked the card between two fingers back at Angelo, right in his face, and he just blinked as it fluttered back down onto the surface of the green pool table. Angelo continued to stare at him with those menacing ember eyes, not moving an inch. The guy glanced away, then seemingly unnerved by his pure silence, he started to back up. Then he snatched the money off of the table.
"I earned this," He grumbled, shaking it in his face in a fist. "You fuckers didn't earn nothin'."
A funny thought popped into Angelo's head as he just blinked at him. He reached over with the eight ball and placed it on the table, and with a flick of his hand and two outstretched fingers, he shot the eight ball into the same side pocket that this man was aiming for prior. It landed in the socket behind him with a quiet thump. He didn't look, didn't even blink, and Angelo just continued to stare at him longer. The man scoffed, shaking his head at his silence and show off technique, and then disappeared into the crowd back to his beer.
Angelo stood up straight after that, picking up the black card. He was glad the writing on it was clear enough, because he didn't want to go about handing him a bunch of notes to argue back and forth. Honestly it was way more fun just to stare at him deadpan with that simple card that demanded his overdue payment.
With a twist on his heel, he turned and started walking out of the bar. Now he was definitely getting stares, but he didn't really care as long as they didn't bother him. Making it to the door unaccosted, he exited the establishment swiftly and stood alone in the chilly night air. He stared at the sky, no stars due to the smog, and took a deep breath through his mas. He sighed out and meandered off to the side of the building; now he just had to wait for the guy to waddle his drunken ass on out here.
(¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.-> <-.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯)
The guy came waddling out sometime after midnight – maybe an hour, maybe half of one. Either way, it didn't make any difference to Angelo, because he was already a night owl. Standing outside in the cool, fresh air playing on his phone was no different from lying alone in bed and doing it.
The door opened at the front of building, and Angelo lazily glanced up to see if it was who he was waiting for. Lo and behold, there was the deadbeat now, stumbling with curses flying from his lips about that bitch of a bartender not giving him enough drinks for the night.
As he stumbled in a zigzag on his way to his shitty little brown convertible, Angelo turned off his phone and followed behind him. Luckily he had parked far enough away; not that anyone would really stop him once he had started, though. This guy wasn't that popular, afterall.
So while the guy stumbled for his keys, dropped them once and then again, Angelo was able to take his dear sweet time coming up behind him. Once the guy stood up again, Angelo kicked in his knee. The man grunted loudly, but Angelo didn't care; he slammed his head right off the edge of his convertible's car door and let him drop to the ground Forehead now bleeding with a fresh cut, the man flail and held his face, cursing.
"You fuckin' midget!" He shouted. "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"
Even with all of the cussing, he remained on the ground, holding his head and moaning pitifully. Yep, the intel was right: he was all bark and no bite. Angelo simply leaned down and grabbed him by the sleeve on his shoulder and hoisted him back up, holding out the car between two fingers rather politely for someone who just slammed a guy's head off of his own car. The man glanced at it, then glared at him.
"You fuckin' assholes-" He started.
With a wild fling of his fist, he tried to punch him across the face – but Angelo was quick. He ducked out of the way, and the man proceeded to stumble, but Angelo hadn't let go yet. Throwing him down, Angelo took note that the bark seemed to have decidedly turned into a bite. The man scrambled back to his feet and threw himself at him to tackle him.
Fire built at Angelo's knee, and he hit him in the face with a bout of flame and bone. The man stumbled back, eyebrows now singed, and surprised – maybe even baffled. Angelo didn't stop there; he turned full circle and gave another flaming roundhouse kick to his side, sending him coughing with a painful sounding crack near the ribs.
Gasping and wheezing, the man stumbled and fell to one knee, but Angelo didn't approach again this time. He simply straight his hoodie and flicked the card to the ground in front of him, turning and walking away as he left it behind on the asphalt.
PAYMENT
2 Days