Holding her breath Bowie glared daggers into the cheap replica clock that hung the wall. The image of a creepily happy waitress that adorned it was a facade, it made her skin crawl.

As soon as the damn thing hit eleven p.m. the brunette exhaled a sigh of relief, it was time to leave. Being the last employee to leave and lock up never made the waitress feel comfortable, but she was trustworthy.

Green eyes scoped out the kitchen and dining area one last time to double check everything was off and secure before she dragged her aching feet towards the exit door. She was a slave to the tiny dive restaurant she worked at, doing twelve hour shifts in order to scrape by.

The brunette had just a few precious hours in between to get some sleep before it started all over again, which gave her no solice. The financially challenged woman felt older than her twenty five years, and was starting to look it too.

Pushing open the glass door to the outside world the first thing that registered beside the dread of a long trip home was the intense heat. The brunette extreme humidity suffocated the brunette and made her polyester blend uniform stick to her skin, it also made her feel sluggish and more tired.

Even turning to shut the door required effort, the tinkling of the rusty bells as Bowie pulled the door to simultaneously engage the lock grated on her nerves. She was tired of hearing it, nothing ever changed, the monotony was driving her crazy.

Trying to shake off the aggravation she walked towards her ride home, the subway. Stopping by a newsstand the brunette grabbed an evening newspaper to read so she could mind her business and not be tempted to divert her eyes on the subway.

After reading the headline her body turned to ice despite the lava that replaced her blood and overhead her frame.

LOS ANGELES TIMES: JUNE 2,1997..."HOTTEST SUMMER IN TEN YEARS EXPECTED TO SCORCH L.A. COUNTY THIS SUMMER."

Bowie quickly crinkled up the newspaper and stuffed it in her tote bag, she really had to get a move on. The longer the brunette stood around the more her chances of making home unscathed lessened.

Drug lords were taking over the streets, their capos were killing anyone who they thought were competition or a witness to the crimes they committed. This put Bowie in the latter category, not that she would intentionally try to get in the way of El Scorpio.

This was his part of town so to speak, it was no holds barred, but this hard working woman craved more out of her existence, and if she was dead there was no chance of making it out of this hell hole to see what else was out there for her.

Bowie almost.. almost let her mind drift off into the unknown.

The career waitress had a "bad habit" as her overly sarcastic boss would say of spacing out and literally forgetting what she was doing.

That was exactly what was happening when the squealing of tires that burned rubber up the semi deserted street slammed Bowie back down to earth.

Eyes burning from smoke rising off the blacktop the brunette was able to make out who it was. Indeed it was a crew of El Scorpio's men, they all had the same red scorpion painted on the sides of their cars.

Bowie crossed her arms tightly across herself and walked with purpose. Not too fast to draw notice, and keeping her eyes down only to look up for a few seconds at a time. Making eye contact with the wrong person meant trouble and as far as she was concerned her luck was running out.

If you could call it that, damned if she wasn't always finding a way to complicate her day. This was more serious than being late for work; or dropping a dish. If the gang members saw her, they might come back after to make sure she wouldn't be around to give the cops any information.

The uneasy feeling clinger to Bowie as she made her way to the subway entrance. "What were they running from?" She half expected the Jamaicans to be hot on their tail, but they never showed. Her mind raced, it had to be something.

By the time she made it to the subway entrance the brunette was ready to give herself a short breather. Untangling her arms the waitress took ahold of the iron railing to lean on for support and the combination of her sweaty hands and condensation on the metal was an accident waiting to happen.

It was too late, slipping forward her body gave into the gravity. That's when out of nowhere a man's voice came. "Watch yourself lady!"

Bowie turned to look at her savior and thought this had to be a joke. His well manicured hand was gripping onto her upper arm and he was so clean cut and crisp in his black suit. He was out of place, and instinctively the brunette knew she'd have been better off falling down the steps.