I was in the restroom, returning the beer I’d rented a few minutes earlier, smoke from my cigarette stinging my eyes in the close, dank air of the dirty bathroom. The voice made me jump, loosing a stream of urine on the side of the stall and all over the seat. Someone else’s problem.

Benny, shit man, you with this?

Probably not, what’s up? I zipped up and walked out, looking in the mirror. Dark eyes, dark skin. People call me athletic, among other nick-names, and I like the way I look tonight. I’m on my A-Game.

Some shit going down. Wiring in.

A sudden spasm of pain lit my temple, a bolt of lightning straight from my cranium to the back of my right eyeball. A small window opened in the center of my vision. Newscast? Not my game.

“The car just exploded!” a woman’s voice wheezed. “Towards the diner now…closeup! Get in there!“

Close-up, two big men in black coats, snub-nosed submachine guns, another clutching a satchel close under a torn coat.

“Shit.”

No shit, man. I got a call.