The Big Job: Part Three

"This was a shit show. We've got the streets of New York turned into the O.K. Corral. Do you have any idea how much this is gonna cost the city. I've got the mayor, the governor and the president gunning for my head." Jocko was red with anger and fear. He stood in the aftermath of the attack, where Harvey Weinstein had been released by mercenaries. 

David sat next to him, his arm in a sling after a paramedic stiched him back up. The scene was full of emergency services and newscasters. In all this commosion, David drowned out all the sounds, he was only focused on one thing. The card given to him by Kevin Spacey. It was a plain white businees card with a phone number hand written on to it.

David took Jocko aside and said, "I'm leaving. I need to rest."
"Take it easy Dave. I'll handle all this. I still owe you for that thing we did in Arkansas."

David walked all the way to Central Park. He was still dressed in his Elon Musk sneaking suit and was walking around Manhattan with a revolver. Luckily, it was New York Fashion Week. On his northward trek, he was harassed by numerous photographers, mistaking his elite level operator gear for a fashion statement.

He sat down at a park bench, opposite two old men playing chess outdoors. He got out his pack of Lucky Strikes that he always had on hand. He loaded a single bullet into his revolver and placed the tip of his cigarette at the end of the barrel. He fired harmlessly into the sky as the hot gases and sparks exiting the barrel lit up the cigarette. It was a trick he had learnt during his time in Afghanistan where he had to organize an undercover, double agent prison break. This trick and a sword previously owned by Mussolini are his only mementos from this trip.

He was unsure whether to call the number on the card or not. David needed to think. He pulled out his iPhone SE and AirPods and played the soundtrack to the film Drive by composer Cliff Martinez. Drive was his favourite film, mostly because he bore an uncanny resemblance to the lead actor, Ryan Gosling.

He made up his mind. He headed to a nearby phone booth and dialled the number. 212-885-7700.
"So you finally decided to call," answered Kevin Spacey. He had stopped putting on a southern accent and was speaking in his normal voice. He continued, "Meet me at the Triangle Club in 15 minutes. It's by..."
"I know where it is," interrupted David.
"Good. I've got a job for you," said Kevin. he then disconnected.

David made his way to the club. It was a weekday afternoon and it was empty. The club was lit in bright pink neon signs with the occasional beam of a blue strobe light flashing randomly. At a corner booth, was a man with his back facing David. David could spor his widow's peak, it was Kevin Spacey. Kevin was dressed in a navy Brooks Brother's sack suit with a white oxford cloth button down shirt. He wasn't wearing a tie and had a pair of Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville boat shoes on with no socks. He was clearly in a casual mood but only a few hours earlier, he had been dressed in tactical gear leading an assault. David walked up to him and sat opposite him not saying a single word.

Spacey broke the ice, "Hey David can I call you Coop ? Sorry for shooting you back there. I did aim for a flesh wound."

David stared at him, taking a 15 second pause, he asked, "Where's Weinstein ?"

"He's doing his daily prayer. You know Big Harv'. He's a very pious man."
 
"You keep thinking I'm gonna join you for some kind of job. I've read the stories. I know what you both did."

"That's all they are. Stories. We were set up. This is way larger than you think. We're gonna need to stop these guys. We're gonna need your help and I know you can't say no."

"What do you need me for ? If its a guy to pull a trigger, you can catch a cab to Harlem and find one there."

"I notice you have a NASA issued Speedmaster there. I'm something of a watch fag myself," Kevin lifted his wrist revealing a green and gold Rolex Cosmograph Daytona Oyster. He continued, "and I know you got that watch from Buzz Aldrin."

David thought back to his race against Buzz Aldrin at the Nurburgring. He may have gained a watch, the respect of Buzz Aldrin and the title 西のドリフトキング (Drift King of the West), but he had lost a prized possesion. A Honda Civic modified to race specifications by the famous Spoon Tuning company. It was the legendary Spoon EK9 with its distinctive yellow and blue colour scheme. He had affectionately named his EK9 the Spoon Goon. The car burst into flames soon after crossing the finish line. Its tires and transmission worn. Salvaged onboard computers showed that the engine was revving at 20,000 rpm when it burst into flames.

"What do you do best ? Your true passion ?" asked Space leaning forward looking David straight in the eyes.
David darted his eyes away and looked at the floor, a natural impulse after making eye contact. After a half a minute pause. He answered, "I drive."

"We need a precision driver for this thing we're planning."

"It sounds serious. Are you sure we can handle this alone ?"

Kevin smirked and leaned back taking a puff from his cigarette. He blew out a puff of smoke and leaned back in. He continued,

"Who said anything about being alone. I'm my old band back together. We're building a team."