New Story - again written exclusively on Steemit - WiP - Bouncer Part 2

I started a new story to share on Steemit. It's not my usual type of tale, but I decided it has legs so I'm going to let it run.

Meet Zack, my newest character. I hope you like him.

The first part was written a few weeks ago and since then, I've been mulling it over in my head where the story needs to go.

Part 1

Pictures from Google free to use search

Please note: This is the FIRST DRAFT, no editing, written straight onto paper.

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Zack made a swift exit to the car park adjacent to the club. He’d left his car in one of the most infamous car parks in town, knowing full well it would still be there when he got back to it.

He had faith that it would still be there because it had the appearance of an abandoned vehicle. The old, dilapidated, clapped-out, dented and ‘rough-ridden and put away wet’ Peugeot looked nothing like a car any self-respecting car thief would look twice at and Zack’s faith was rewarded. If he didn’t appreciate it for the job it did, Zack would have dumped the car ages ago. As it was, it saved a lot of hassle. No one broke into it because it looked like it was owned by someone that owned nothing of any value. If anyone deliberately damaged or vandalised the car – apart from slashing the tyres – it made no difference. The car’s resale value was, as Zack himself put it, “Worth a bag of chips and a can of coke… maybe.”

It looked like this... once

Zack walked around the car, checking for deflated tyres. Sick of getting out of work in the early hours to find his pride and joy damaged, dented, tyres slashed and once, a huge lump of concrete sitting in the middle of the hood, Zack decided to box clever and use an old scrapper for day-to-day running around. As long as it started up, it would suit him.

Zack didn’t notice any new damage to the paintwork and he got in, started it up and drove out of the car park. He knew the Boss would most likely be watching via the CCTV and he didn’t want to give him the slightest of excuses to send anyone after him. Zack had watched the Boss studying the screen of the CCTV monitor more times than he could recall. Meetings with doormen and ‘businessmen’ sometimes required the presence of more than the usual goons and Zack was summoned to the office on such occasions, even when he was supposed to be off duty, so to speak.

After every meeting, the Boss stared at the camera until the man he’d been meeting with was out of sight. He watched how the man walked, who he spoke to, who he met with and especially what car he drove. All information he could glean from that small monitor, he’d jot down and keep in a filing cabinet – a locked filing cabinet.

Whether or not the Boss already had a file for Zack, he didn’t know, but he understood how the Boss worked and he had to make his own strategies to suit. He decided there and then the Peugeot had to go.

Zack went to his new office.

He parked the clapped-out car in his parking space and turned off the engine. He sat for a moment, looking up at the building. Not much to look at, a serviceable building, lots of windows, plenty of parking and the rent was reasonable – it would do for the moment.

Zack didn’t move. He stared off into space, thinking. Then he reached for the ignition key. He started the car again, put it in gear and drove off.

Zack went home.

He left the car a little way down the street out of habit and walked to his house.

He hung up his coat in the hall and went into the kitchen.

Clicking the kettle on, he sat on one of the tall bar stools at the breakfast bar and he leaned his elbows on the worktop, rested his face in his hands and rubbed his face. The heels of his hands slipped into the hollows of his eye sockets and he pressed gently before moving both hands out, his palms rubbing his forehead.

Zack placed both hands on the worktop, leaned his head back, closed his eyes and stretched his neck to relieve the pent-up strain from being so tense and alert in the meeting and on the drive home.

His neck cracked satisfyingly and he sighed.

When he had a cup of coffee in his hand, he picked up the house phone and pressed redial.

The phone rang twice and he didn’t wait for the “Hello?”

“It’s done. I’ve told him I’m quitting. Three more shifts and I’m free and clear,” he said.

“It seems a little too easy if I’m honest,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

“Yeah, I know. I’m wary too. Nothing I can do, though. I have to behave like I trust the bastard, we might need his money at some point.”

“OK, well, I have a bit more work to finish. As soon as I do, I’ll call round at yours and we can go and eat.”

“I can pick you up…” Zack said.

“No, your car is shit. I wouldn’t be seen dead in it. Anyway, where we’re going, they’d probably not let you park that scrapper on the same street, let alone in their car park.”

“Celebration dinner, is it?” Zack said, his grin finally reaching his eyes.

“That’s what we promised Dad. I’ll grab the money he left specifically for this occasion and I’ll come and fetch you. We’re on our way, Brother!”

“You’ve got that right!” Zack said.