Disclaimer: We own nothing but the plot.
A/N: This chapter was written by DMBfan, not me, and this story is a partnership between the both of us. I'll have chapter two up by tomorrow, so no worries there.
Enjoy the story!
-Sillver
Fourteen-year-old Zack Martin came rushing into his suite. He took a few minutes to catch his breath since he had just run up twenty-three floors because the elevators were out of order. Carey Martin raised an eyebrow as she watched her panting son.
"You okay?" asked Carey. Zack nodded.
"I need four-hundred dollars," explained Zack, hoping his mom was in a good mode. Carey gave Zack a sideways look.
"You're joking, right?" asked Carey.
"No. I need the money for that concert coming up in a month," answered Zack.
"The rock concert with all those bands? Sorry, Zack. You're going to have to raise that money yourself," said Carey. Zack sighed. He suddenly regretted asking for the hundred dollar game console the month before. Maybe if he hadn't asked for that.
"Come on, Mom. I'm dying to see this concert," pleaded Zack.
"Sorry, honey. I just don't have the money for that. You'll have to get it some other way," answered Carey.
"How am I going to raise four hundred dollars in a month?" asked Zack.
"Get a job," suggested Carey.
"A job?" asked Zack, his nose scrunching up in disgust.
"Yes, a job. You know, how people make money," explained Carey. Zack narrowed his eyes at his mother. Now she was being sarcastic. He was in no mood for sarcasm. Then again, there had to be a job out there that was easy and paid well.
"I guess I could get a job," sighed Zack.
"That's the spirit," exclaimed Carey. She threw Zack the classified section of the paper she had been reading.
"Start job hunting," she said. Zack sighed as he started leafing through the paper.
"By the way, where's your brother?" asked Carey.
"Library. Working on some extra credit. Like he needs it," mumbled Zack.
"He's a hard worker," said Carey. Zack glared at her.
"Not saying your not," defended Carey. Zack shook his head and went back to looking for a job. He raised any eyebrow as he read one that sounded interesting. Zip Couriers. Delivery boy needed. Flexible hours. Good pay. Call 1-800-568-7529. Ask for Alex.
"There's an ad for a delivery boy. I could do that. I can get around this city pretty well," announced Zack.
"Call them up if there's a number," said Carey, looking over Zack's shoulder.
"Can't hurt," said Zack, picking up the phone and dialing the number. The phone rang twice before a woman picked up.
"Zip Couriers. This Paula speaking."
"Hi! I'm calling about the want ad in the paper. I'd like to talk to Alex," replied Zack.
"Oh sure. Can you hold for a second?"
"Sure." Some annoying elevator music came on. Zack sighed. A man picked up after twenty seconds.
"This is Alex."
"Hi. I'm calling about the want ad." There was a short pause.
"How old are you?"
"I'm fourteen." There was another pause. Zack sighed, expecting the man to come back on and say no.
"You know you're way around the city?"
"Oh sure."
"You have a bike?"
"Um, yeah. It's kind of piece of crap." Zack heard Alex chuckle.
"That's OK. You can trade your bike in for some of the ones we have here. One last thing, what's your name, son?"
"Zack Martin."
"Well, Zack, you can start right away. I'll start you off with the easy stuff. Stops that are only a few blocks away. Stop by tomorrow at around four-thirty and I'll give you your first job."
"Sure. Thanks a lot."
"No problem. See you tomorrow." The line went dead. Zack shrugged and hung up.
"Got the job. Guy was really nice," explained Zack. "I start tomorrow."
"There you go. Just be careful," warned Carey.
"Don't worry, Mom. Alex said he'd give me the easy routes," assured Zack.
Alex Robbins sighed as walked back to his office after talking to Zack Martin over the phone. He needed a new courier after what happened to young Michael. Kid took a short cut through a bad part of town and ended up being shot twice in the back and having his package stolen by a bunch of street thugs. The danger of being a bike courier. Alex sighed as he sat down at his desk. His splitting headache that had been plaguing him that morning came back. Alex rifled through his desk in search of an Advil. Paula poked her head in the office.
"Carlos Ruiz on line 1, boss. He sounds frustrated," explained Paula. Alex sighed. Great. Just what he needed. An angry phone call from one of his richest clients. Alex sighed and picked up the phone.
"Mr. Ruiz, how nice of you to call," exclaimed Alex cheerfully.
"I wish it was under better circumstances. I have not received my package yet," replied Ruiz angrily.
"Traffic is a nightmare at this time of day," explained Alex.
"Your couriers are on bikes, Mr. Robbins. That's hardly an excuse," sneered Ruiz.
"I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. I'll look into this right away," assured Alex.
"I hope so, Mr. Robbins," snapped Ruiz. He hung up. Alex slammed down the phone.
"Paula, who goes to the Ruiz place?" asked Alex.
"Larry. This is the fifth time he's been late," answered Paula, walking into her boss's office.
"Contact Larry and tell him to get his ass down there," ordered Alex. Paula nodded.
"Then contact Eddie and have him take care of Larry at the usual spot," added Alex. Paula nodded nervously as she left Alex's office. Alex leaned back in his chair. Hopefully this Martin kid was a good worker. Alex was sick and tired of having to take care of employees. He had a business to run. He couldn't afford to deal with incompetence.
Detective Jack Miller groaned as his phone rang for a second time. At least the machine would pick it up. Jack rolled over in bed and looked out the window. It was awfully sunny out for early in the morning.
"Jack, it's Walter. Jesus, Jack, it's four in the afternoon. Where the hell are you? Lying around isn't good for you. Please come down to the station. We might have a lead on that drug ring case. Don't torture yourself, Jack. Luke is going to be just fine."
Jack moaned as his boss mentioned his son. Eleven-year-old Luke Miller was lying in a coma at the trauma center. A mother earlier he had been hit by a car while riding his bike. Jack had fallen into a major case of depression. His ex-wife hadn't helped matters. She and Luke's stepfather were blaming the whole thing on Jack. Dirty move since Luke was spending the day with them when it happened. Jack felt the pain come back into his body.
He let out a tortured moan as he got up and rushed to the bathroom. The pill bottle was sitting on the sink, just where Jack had left it the night before. Jack took off the cap and popped three Prozac into his mouth. He swallowed them without water. The pain went away. Jack sighed in relief.
He looked at himself in the mirror. A weeks worth of stubble covered his face and his eyes were bloodshot. His black hair was sticking up in several different places. Jack took a twenty minute shower, letting the hot water calm his nerves. The one he couldn't mess up was his job. It was all he had left. He needed to bust the drug ring case wide open.
Jack finished showering and quickly dried off and changed. He didn't bother making coffee. He'd grab some later. He felt like working the late shift tonight. Maybe drop in on some of his contacts.
He holstered his gun and pulled on the jacket he had been wearing for years now. He stared at the shut door that led to Luke's room.
Jack hadn't been in the room for a week. Maybe when he got back...
He turned off all the lights and left for work, not sure when he would be back or if he would even come back.
Anything could happen.
To Be Continued
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