InsaneJournal

Hunted
Date: 16th January 2012
Time: 12:02pm
Location: Main Street
Characters: John Irvine, Lux Warren
Description: We're being followed.
Status: Private, complete.

John frowned.

"It was thirty bucks last week, Pete," he said, one hand upturned in protest. "Now it's forty."

"Tough times, John," the man behind the counter replied, nonplussed. Peter Adams was a decent kind of guy, most of the time. Pushing sixty, with thinned grey hair that he refused to simply shave off, his glasses gave him a hint of intellectualism that John found quite affecting. He'd run the auto shop in town for as long as John could remember, and he'd always been kind. From giving the neighbourhood kids candy on Halloween, through to sneaking him a beer from the 24/7 when he was 18, John had a lot of time for Peter Adams. "We're not doing the same kind of business we used to, not with that big pit shop open now in Summer."

It was true. As the other towns around Crescent Cove began to grow, it seemed as if the town itself was shrinking every day. Shops were closing, chain stores opening at an alarming rate. The change didn't seem as noticeable to the newer or younger residents, but for those who'd lived their entire lives there, it was more than a little saddening.

"But I'll tell you what," he continued suddenly. "Since it's your birthday, how about we say 20 and call it square."

"You remembered," John smirked. "Here I was thinking you didn't care."

"Yeah, well, don't let anyone know," he grumbled, filling out a reminder slip. "Otherwise I'll have that Larson girl in here for a full revamp of her engine faster than you can say clapped out. Come back tomorrow, I'll have the brakes tuned up and the oil changed."

"Thanks, Pete." John smiled, pocketing the slip of paper. "Appreciate it." The older man waved him off with a grunt, which John took as a good bye. Stepping out of the mechanic's shop, the broad sunshine and the crisp cold air hit him suddenly, forcing him to button his long coat against the chill. Around him, the assorted residents of Crescent Cove milled through the high street, dropping in to shops and out of them with the kind of languid stroll that seems to happen when a few hundred people are busy shopping, but not really buying anything. Pausing for a moment off to the side, he pulled his notepad from his pocket, crossing off one of the tasks written down on it, before he felt his cell begin to thrum urgently in his hand. Staring at the screen for a second, he thumbed the 'answer' button.

"Hey," he said into the mouthpiece, lifting the handset to his ear.