Thread: Flame's Past

He was really starting to hate this fucking town. It had seemed so simple. His parole officer was a drunk that would do and say anything for a bottle of liquor, so that little obstacle might as well not have existed. One hijacking later and he was out of the state, so far gone that the assholes he owed the money to would probably never find him, even if they had the first idea of where to look. And so Johnny Davis had tossed away his record, his debts, the girl who was dumb enough to think she wanted to marry him, and every other scrap of his old life in Chicago and just started driving. When the stolen car ran out of gas he just traded it away for one that still had the title and kept driving. Finally he'd ended up here, a college town that didn't notice when one more dude in his twenties showed up. The perfect place to lay low until he could get back on his feet. That, at least, had been the plan. But the campus security seemed to regard the entire town as their jurisdiction, there were always crowds wandering the streets heading for bars or restaurants, every job in town was taken by some bright-eyed student, and it was impossible to get anything cheaply without a student id. It was getting harder and harder for a guy to make a living, honest or otherwise. Even the apartment he'd been renting cost too much for the rat-infested hellhole it was, and getting enough money to escape without attracting attention he didn't need was proving far more difficult then it should have been. Another week of this, and he'd have to start mugging people for a sandwich. Still, on the morning of June 22, Johnny left the apartment feeling a bit optimistic. The town was holding some sort of festival which brought in a ton of touristy folks mostly students and their families. But lots of people and lots of cash would be floating around, which meant that there were plenty of opportunities for someone observant enough to notice an unattended purse or carelessly stored cashbox. Penny-ante shit, but he hadn't made enough of a name for himself to get in on any of the big scores in town. Not even the pot dealers around here wanted to accept a courier without knowing he was 'cool' and that meant either having someone to vouch for him or pulling some big grab on his own. Neither had been very promising, not without getting arrested, and it would only take one collar before they found out he bailed on his parole. What was worse, he needed to pull this penny-ante shit just to make ends meet paying the rent had nearly wiped him out. Johnny's slouching walk kept his tall frame at the same height as everyone else as he passed through the crowd, the grey hoodie pulled up to cover his very light blond hair. Brown eyes looked out at the world with cold calculation, carefully watching the crowd around him for those dumb enough to put their wallets in their back pocket or set down their shopping bags 'just for a moment.' It took a bit of effort to move his wide frame though the crowd without jostling too many people, except of course when he wanted to bump them to hide the hand slipping into a pocket. He'd only scored a couple of wallets as he passed by yet another one of the performance groups scattered throughout the streets, coins jingling as they struck the case before them. Out of vague curiosity he glanced up at the troupe, wondering if he could find a moment to grab the change they'd collected, when he stopped dead in his tracks. What the fuck... he thought to himself, staring at one of the faces. It couldn't be.