This is #9 of Endangered and is titled Talk. It is part 9 of Volume 1.
Vicky sits silently in her seat, her eyes on the teacher but her thoughts somewhere else. Around her many other students do the same thing, except most of them are usually listening. Usually Vicky is listening too but she just had so much on her mind lately that she just sits there in her own thoughts, yet still making sure she looks like she is paying attention.
At the front of the large room her professor, Dr. Ugis Pinka walks back and forth across the room, once again trying to make himself sound cool, by sharing one of his many “I did this…” stories. He did this regularly, truth was he wasn’t the best teacher. However one thing he was good at was giving people shit, judging by the way he saw Vicky wasn’t paying attention.
“Ms. Cummings.” Mr. Pinka announces across the room, and Vicky doesn’t respond. She didn’t even hear him. “Ms. Cummings.” He says once more, with a lot more force and he causes Vicky to flinch. She heard him alright.
Vicky looks straight ahead and notices that almost everyones eyes are on her, including Mr. Pinka. “Yes.” She finally says, and her dumbfoundedness causes some students to giggle.
“Could you tell me what I just said?”
“Before that.” Vicky ponders to herself and tries thinking of something Mr. Pinka would say, and she was even about to take a guess at it until someone next to her nudges her shoulder. Vicky turns to a blonde haired girl around her age.
“Stopping a robbery.” She mutters to Vicky, who quickly nods.
“How you so heroically stopped a robber.” Vicky announces, hoping this girl was right, and sure enough Pinka just nodded. Correct.
“Anyways so after that….” Pinka goes on saying, and Vicky just blanks him out again, before sighing in relief. Vicky then proceeds to turn toward the blonde haired girl next to her, the girl who saved her the embarrassment of a lecture.
“Thanks.” Vicky says to her, and the girl nods her head.
“Sure thing. Couldn’t just let someone get a Pinka lecture, right?”
“True that.” Vicky takes a closer look at her, like she recognizes this girl. “Have I seen you before?”
“Probably, I don’t know. Names Kelly.”
“Vicky. Nice to meet you, Kelly.”
“So what you studying here at the university?”
“Art. I was always interested in it, for whatever reason. You?”
“Writing. Always loved making different worlds and shit, you know?”
“Yeah, I know what ya mean.” Kelly then looks back at Pinka. “Now pay attention because I won’t save your ass next time.” She jokes and Vicky lightly laughs, before listening back to Pinka’s story. But after another few minutes of listening her thoughts drift back to the ID…...the damn ID. She just wanted to forgot about that night, about the man. But now she knew his name….who he was.
Michael Nicholson. That’s who the man was, and Vicky was wondering if she should go after him. Maybe she should at least find out who he is, get to know the man who made her an embarrassment. Then again she could only wonder what kind of man Michael was.
Michael sat on the edge of his couch, tapping his foot every second, like he was nervous. Or Desperate. Because in his hands Michael held his cell phone, and for the fifth time in a row he’s calling Sarah. She may not want to talk to him but Michael has some explaining to do, and first was to explain that the fight was accident. He’s also tempted to tell here that it was James who attacked first, but he wasn’t just gonna ruin another relationship in her life.
Suddenly the phone began to ring once again and Michael turned toward it, hoping that maybe Sarah would pick up this time. However once again after a few rings he was met with the same voice message that he’s been hearing for what feels like anger, and all of his hopes just dropped right there.
Hey this is Sarah I’ll call ya back later, until then just leave me a message after the beep. Michael heard that go off, followed by the beep, and he was about to hang up when he paused. Maybe he could leave her a message, attempting to explain himself.
“Hey Sarah,” Michael decides to start off, while the thoughts of what to say rush through his head, “it’s dadd-Michael here. I know you don’t want to talk to me but I got some stuff I need to say.” Michael takes a deep breath.
“I’m a shit person, alright? But I’m trying to do good for you. The fight the other day was completely out of line, and I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just want to tell you that I love you and-” Michael stops speaking and thinks, he isn’t good at this stuff. “I’m not really good at this stuff so just please call me back.” With that Michael hangs up.
Oscar paces around the dark, damp room, with the only source of light being a dim light bulb. The room itself is pretty old and ripped apart, and is full of trash. This definitely wasn’t a place where people would want to live, but this wasn’t a place for living. Oscar, donning his signature green jacket, eyes the man that sits in the middle of the room. The man sits tied up to a char and is covered with sweat, bruises, blood, and fear. This was Rocco, and he just about wanted to shoot himself.
Standing next to Rocco was Joel, who kept glancing between Rocco and Oscar with his blank, emotionless expression. Joel himself had some of Rocco’s blood on his arm, yet he was used to it. This was his job after all. Next to him Joel held onto a cart which held home to numerous amount of items, items that Rocco kept sending nervous glances at. Joel, noticing Rocco’s fear, only scoffed and turned toward Oscar, who kept pacing around Rocco. “Want me to-” Joel tries to say but stop once Oscar raises his hand, signaling for Joel to shut up.
“Hold on a few minutes. Lets give Mr. Rocco here a little rest.” Oscar says and although his words sounded semi nice, only bad intentions came from his voice. Rocco took nervous glances between Oscar and Joel before painting francitatally.
“Look man just let me go. I-I told you everything I know.” Rocco begs and Oscar, deciding the rest was over, swings a punch into Rocco’s face, causing the man to flinch and cough frantically. Oscar just glares down, whilst rubbing some blood off his knuckles.
“How about we get this done quicker and not lie to each other?” Oscar simply says but Rocco shakes his head, nervously and scared.
“I don’t know anything!” He yells but Oscar only glares, before letting out a scoff.
“I’m gonna ask the question again, and you’re gonna answer me.” Rocco looks at Oscar and just slowly nods, so Oscar leans right up into his face, causing Rocco to shiver. “Why did you set me up?”
“I don’t know wh-”
“You fucking set me up with that bank robbery!”
“No I didn’t!” Rocco pleads but Oscar only glares at the man, before sending a short nod to Joel, who returns it with a dark smirk. Turning to his side Joel scans the cart, before picking up a sharp, dirty blood covered, wrench. Swinging it in his hands Rocco watched in fear, which made both men ultimately smile.
“You wanna tell me why, and who, set me up?”
“I told-” Rocco tries to say but is interrupted once Joel swings his wrench directly into Rocco’s face, and the man lets out a yelp while his char falls to the ground, and Rocco is left laying there coughing up his blood and teeth. Despite the fact blood enters his eye, he is still able to look up at Joel, who looks like he could hit again. Rocco can barely gesture words while Joel swings again, hitting Rocco in the stomach.
“I said don’t lie Rocco.” Oscar says, walking over to the table of “toys” while Joel pulls Rocco’s chair straight up, and Rocco just spits teeth out of his mouth. Oscar, grabbing the tooth remover, walked over to the now basically crying Rocco, and just glared. “You gonna talk now?”
Rocco can’t even say anything so Oscar, taking it as a no, sticks the remover in his mouth and grips onto his molar. Rocco screams bloody murder while Joel yanks at it, until the molar flies out, and more blood exits into Rocco’s mouth. “How about now?”
“F-f-fi-fine.” Rocco mumbles out and Oscar only smiles, while Joel just lowers his wrench back onto the table. “Ryker wants….wants to try and take over Brown’s mafia.”
“Not a smart move.” Oscar comments, and Rocco just ignores it.
“He….he told us to take down the gang leaders with Brown, one by one. And…...the best way to get you was..”
“Setting me up, huh?” Oscar glares at Rocco, who nods weakly and cowardly. “You fucking set me up!”
“I-I-I” Rocco can only mutter, barely having strength to talk, but then finds himself scared again when Oscar rips a pistol out of his back pocket. Oscar quickly aims at Rocco’s head and Rocco only sits still, trying not to tick Oscar off. Joel just watches casually, deciding not to try and step in. “Ple-ease just let me go…”
“Like I’m just gonna let you go?” Oscar keeps his finger tight on the trigger, not aiming off his head. “Just be lucky you talked and I’m not slowly bashing your dumbass brains in.”
“Please I got…..I’m not ready to die yet.”
“Who the hell would even care about your cowardly ass, nigga.” Oscar tightens his grip and is even about to shoot, until Rocco tries saying his situation.
“My Brother has c-caner man, and he a-ain’t gonna make it.” Oscar doesn’t shoot, but also doesn’t feel any sympathy, and only didn’t shoot because Joel’s eyes instantly wided.
“How bad is the cancer?” Joel asks, deciding to get into this convo.
“Level 5.” Rocco mutters and Joel just watches, with slight pain in his eyes. Not like he feels bad for Rocco but it’s like….it’s like he is remembering something. Joel definitely lost someone to cancer before, so he knew what it was like.
“Oscar, let him go.” Joel calls over to Oscar, “guy told us what we wanted to know.” Rocco looks at Oscar and his eyes plead for mercy, but Oscar never showed mercy. So before Rocco even could say one last word, Oscar had pulled the trigger and the bullet dug into Rocco’s face, making no sound because of Oscar’s silencer, and the only sound was Rocco’s body falling to the ground.
Joel looks at the man’s body and although he says nothing, his eyes have slight disgust toward Oscar. Sure Joel was a monster himself but at least he had morales, unlike Oscar who was just a heartless bastard. Oscar, noticing this look, simply puts his pistol away before turning toward Joel. “Call up the lawyer, James I think. Tell him I got some news.” Joel nods, luckily Oscar set up a voice recording so they got everything Rocco said.
Joel begins to walk away but Oscar has one last question. “Who did you lose to cancer?” Oscar calls to Joel, who stops in his tracks. Joel hesitates at first but then says it.
“I had a good friend named Carl, diagnosed back in my senior year.” Joel says like it was nothing, even pretending to shrug, but it was obvious a big matter inside him. With that said Joel then walks away and leaves his boss to deal with the body.
“Okay, okay.” McCoy mutters to himself while flipping through the script that he holds in his hands, tapping his foot nervously. He takes a glance around the boring, old room he sits in and finds that despite all the open seats, he finds himself alone. Looks like he was the last audition, so McCoy had to be good. This was his chance. His chance to show off his acting skills.
The role wasn’t big actually, only being a supporting role on a tv show; but to McCoy it was a step in the right direction. The direction of earning all his stuff back, like a real man should do. Looking back down at the script in his hands, for the comedy show Charlie's Dildos, and went over his lines again.
“Next.” The announcer simply said, and McCoy lightly gulped. He could no longer procrastinate and it was now or never. Sighing to himself he stands up from the comfy chair, adjusts himself so he looks semi presentable, before walking into the room. He was instantly met with much colder air and his first sight of the room was another amauter actor walking away from the producers, slightly mad. He, McCoy, decided to look stern and just walked in front of the judges.
“Name.” The first judge says quite rudely, not even bothering to say hello. That was how Hollywood acted alright.
“19.” McCoy watches while the producer writes stuff down onto his paper, before looking up at McCoy, and McCoy can feel the judgmental eyes even behind those sharp black glasses. This is why McCoy hated rich people, they were to snobby and flashy. Then again McCoy wasn’t one to talk.
“Page nine, go.” The man says and McCoy quickly flips to page nine, and tries finding his line.
“I-I ain’t like that brotha.” McCoy starts off kind of rocky, hoping maybe his A game would come.
“I saw you.” The producer reads simply, not bothering to try.
“Don’t act like you know - shit I mean - Don’t act like you fucking know me! You were never there for me!”
“Man, fuck your nigga ass.” McCoy say with power, deciding that this was his time. He was going to do it.
“This is it.” Vicky says to the cab driver as the cab drives past an old apartment, and Vicky thinks this is the place she is looking for; at least that’s what the ID says. So the cab driver pulls over to the curb and Vicky hands him the due money, before exiting the cab and stepping onto the sidewalk. Taking a glance around the area she notices that this isn’t exactly the best area, judging by the amount of prostitutes and gang members she sees.
Vicky however just ignores them and makes her way toward the shallow apartment building that sits in front of her, before entering inside. The first thing she notices once entering is the damp lobby, which only consists of a desk, mailboxes, and a rusty couch. To go along with that the only occupant in the lobby, besides Vicky herself, is the man that sits, and he eyes Vicky suspiciously. “I don’t recognize you.” He says to Vicky and although she feels sort of uncomfortable, she still decides to speak.
“Well you shouldn’t, this is my first time here.”
“Ah, you looking to buy an apartment? I think I got like two or-”
“I’m not here to buy an apartment.” Vicky rejects the idea, and the owner building then just loses interest.
“Oh. Then why are you here?”
“I’m looking for someone.” Vicky pulls Michael’s ID out of her bag and puts it on the desk, and the man takes a gander at it. Now usually he doesn’t give information away but the moment he saw it was Michael, he sat right up.
“Michael goddamn Nicholson. I can say no one likes him, guy is weird.”
“Well thanks for the info.” Vicky takes the ID back and slides it back into her pocket. “Um, do you know where his apartment is.”
“4B.” The man says, plopping back onto his chair behind the desk, and Vicky nods in the form of a thanks before she walks off. Making her way to the stairs she makes her way up to the first floor, then to the second, then to the third, and finally to the fourth, and last, floor. Glancing down the small fourth floor hallway she soon sees the apartment that reads “4B.”
Vicky at first just stares at it, wondering if this was the right move or not. She told herself to let go of the whole sex thing, and she did, but then when she got the name…...she just got curious. All she wants to do is meet the guy, talk to him, and find out who he is. She would at least like to know who took her virginity, so she could feel less bad about it. So taking a nice, deep breath she then made her way toward the door, only shaking slightly.
Soon enough she arrived at the door and although hesitant she decided to go through with this, and knocked on the door. After at least a minute wait she could hear, and see, the knob turning and soon enough the door opens to a man. Brown curly hair, blue eyes, few years older than Vicky, and raggy clothes. She instantly recognized him as the man, Michael Nicholson.
Michael on the other hand had no idea who she was, and just stared at her blankly. He just stared at her for a second, thinking she looked familiar, but then decided to talk. “Can I help you?”
“Umm..“I’m Vicky Cummings.”
“Do I know you?” Michael asks because that name certainly did ring a bell. Vicky however just keeps staring at him, into his eyes. Those dark, deep eyes, and she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it.
“I’m sorry I think I just have the wrong apartment.” Vicky backs away embarrassed and quickly walks away before Michael could even get a chance to talk to her.
James sits silently at his desk, fiddling with the report in his hands, and his tie simultaneously. It had to be twenty minutes since he gotten that phone call from Joel saying that Oscar had breaking news in the case, yet James knew it wasn’t gonna be good. Something bad had to have went down and James worries that this could backfire on Oscar, and himself more importantly.
In that moment the door opens from across the room and Oscar, dressed appropriately, enters the room, closing the door behind him. “So I’ve got some information.” Oscar skips the hello and instead gets to the point while making his way to James, who sits casually in his black chair.
“Well hello to you too." James says, slightly mocking, to which Oscar just stares at him in a way James doesn't like, so he gets to business. "Is it helpful?” James asks, to which Oscar takes a seat from across him and places an audio tape on the desk.
“It proves that I was set up.”
“Is it liable?”
“Just listen to it.” Oscar assures and James just eyes him suspiciously, before playing the tape. He listens closely and only after a minute he knows what he’s listening too; he’s listening to goddamn torture.
“Did you torture someone?”
“Just skip to the ending.” Oscar commands and James, giving Oscar a dirty look at first, soon does so.
“F-f-fi-fine.“Ryker wants….wants to try and take over Brown’s mafia.”
“Not a smart move.”
“He….he told us to take down the gang leaders with Brown, one by one. And…...the best way to get you was..”
“Setting me up, huh? You fucking set me up!”
Oscar stops the tape, not wanting to get into the whole killing part, while James just sits there thinking. “We got audio proof that-”
“What the hell are you thinking? I can’t use this!”
“Why the hell not!”
“You fucking tortured the guy! They would charge you for another crime!”
“Then cut out the torture part.”
“The whole tape itself isn’t good!” James says awfully loud at Oscar, so he then lowers his voice. “This tape could be staged for all they know.”
“Make them believe it’s not.”
“I can’t just do that.” James says, trying to convince Oscar that the tape wouldn’t work, but Oscar wasn’t gonna just backdown. Standing to his feet Oscar stood intimidating in front of James’s desk.
“Tell me James, do you have a family?” Oscar notices the change in James’s body language, and he saw a glimpse of a picture, containing a young girl. “She’s pretty, I can give you that. But imagine her with a bullet in her head, and her lifeless body lying in a casket.”
This immediately angers James and he quickly stands to his feet, looking at Oscar directly in the eyes. The two men just stare at each other and James is on the verge of attacking Oscar, but he keeps his cool. “Get the fucking job done and then, that might just not happen.” Oscar mutters to him, tossing him the audio tape, before exiting out of the office, with James’s glare following him.
McCoy walks slowly down the streets of the more project like area, his hands stuffed in his coat and his hood covering his head, which currently hangs down in shame. Although his face isn’t visible to others, it is clear that McCoy isn’t doing that good right now. In fact he’s doing horrible because he not only failed his audition, but he froze up right in front of them. He made a complete fool of himself.
Kicking a pepsi can down in the street in anger, he just feels like punching something. Breaking something, and he never usually felt that feeling. But the fact that he ruined his shot at TV makes him angry. Deciding that he needed to cool down, he decides to look up and see if anything can distract him.
He only saw some gang members go down the street, some poor people, and two cops walking down the street. However while examining the area he fails to see the main in front of him, and he collides into the man, causing both to loose their footing a little bit. “Sorry.” McCoy says to the white, young man, who only shakes his head.
“Fucking watch where you’re going.” The man says, pretty rude, to McCoy.
“I said sorry.”
“Just watch it.” The man says once again before walking away from McCoy, but not before saying one last comment. “Fucking Nigger.”
McCoy, who heard this, immediately turned in the direction of the man, and followed after him. “What the hell did you call me?” McCoy shouts after him. However the man just keeps walking, ignoring McCoy, and suddenly all that anger McCoy felt, grew. He just wanted to release it, so before he could even think he grabbed the man by the shoulders. “I asked what the hell you called me.”
“Buddy get the fuck off me!”
“I asked what you called me!” McCoy shouted again, causing a few bystanders to glance over, and McCoy knew he was starting shit. But he couldn’t help it, he had so much anger throughout his wife he just wanted to let it out. However before anything else could go down, McCoy saw a familiar face get in between himself and the man.
“Hey now lets take it easy.” The man says, and McCoy recognized him as Dre Ocean, a kid from his same college.
“Do you know him!” The racist man screams about McCoy.
“I do and I’m very sorry about what happened here, my friend here is just upset.” Dre eyes McCoy, out of confusion and also telling McCoy to back off.
“You better keep that kid on a leash.”
“Man shut-” McCoy tries to say but Dre elbows him, cutting him off before he can start anything else.
“So how about we just drop all of this, cool?” Dre asks and the man just eyes McCoy, and Dre both. But the man himself wasn’t in the mood for shit either, so he decided to not start anything big.
“Whatever.” The man says before walking off from them, and McCoy just holds his mouth closed. Dre on the other hand just waits until the man is off the block, before speaking up himself.
“Little bastard.” Dre cracks a smile and turns to McCoy, who only lightly smirks. “C’mon lets go have a talk.”
Dre finds himself sitting one of his favorite restaurants once again, and across from him sits McCoy, who just seems embarrassed and bummed out, then again Dre couldn't blame him. Guy almost started a fight in the middle of the projects, aka the ghetto. Dre, taking another look at McCoy, could tell that he wasn’t used to these areas, unlike Dre. “So what was all that?” Dre asks McCoy, who still holds his head down in shame.
“Nothing.” McCoy sighs and Dre manages to crack a smile of sympathy.
“Relax this event won’t be on twitter by the end of the night.” McCoy looks at Dre confused so he elaborates. “It means I’m not gonna tell anyone.”
“So what happened?”
“I..I just got a little angry. Wasn’t exactly having the best day and then he called me a nigger, so I got a little angry, know what I mean?”
“Yeah I know what you mean man.” Dre takes a nice refreshing sip of the water that was beside him, while McCoy just fiddles with the menu. “So you ever been in these parts before?”
“Not really, only drove by them once and awhile.”
“Well welcome to the ghetto.”
“I’m guessing you grew up here?”
“Naw man. Grew up down south, over in Atlanta.”
“Atlanta, huh? So what brought you here.”
“Moved down here when I was younger. Actually grew up in the suburbs.” Dre lightly smiles, like memories were flourishing into his head. “But I had friends down here.”
“Yeah. I can tell this probably isn’t the best area.”
“Well this is where the rejects live, I guess.” Dre’s friendly smile dindles down until he had a serious face. “The people who weren’t accepted into the ‘rich society’, the ‘cool society.’ Instead we end up here and get looked down upon, damn racism, discrimination. I guess that’s just life now.” McCoy nods silently and takes a sip of his drink, and Dre notices he feels uncomfortable.
“You grow up rich?” Dre curiously asks and McCoy pauses for a second, like he freezes.
“No.” McCoy finally says, followed by a short silence between the two. “Anyways thanks for the help back there.”
“Sure thing man. Can’t just leave someone hanging.”
“Well It’s not everyday I get saved by the famous Dre Ocean.”
“Famous? I’m famous huh.”
“Well I’m pretty sure every girl in the school wants to get in your pants, and you’re a mystery.”
“Mystery? I like it.”
“I mean you don’t live in a dorm, and you’re never at campus? Why is that?”
“Can’t say, thats part of the mystery.” Dre jokes while going for another drink, and McCoy manages to crack a light smile.
Oscar finds himself sitting on his couch, now wearing more baggy like clothes instead of his suit. Was a long day for him; cleaning up the body, talking with James, and getting stuck in traffic. Oscar just needed a nice, small rest. Grabbing his remote he plans on turning on the TV, yet something interrupted him, a knock on the door. Grunting in annoyance he stood up, walked to the door, and ripped it open only to find a suited man. “What?”
“Mr. Jones.” The man says with a deep, dark voice. “You are Mr. Jones I presume.”
“What is it?”
“Mr. Brown would like to speak with you.” Oscar suddenly felt a dropping feeling in his stomach because if one thing was for sure it was that when Mr. Brown wanted to see you in person, it was never good.