Justice Served

01 | Jayce's Scheme

Chapter One
Jayce Mirella

                   The bustling of people around me is tremendous. I hear the pitter-patter of footsteps as they scurry on their way to shop for expensive luxuries that some could only dream of obtaining. Bright lights light up the streets as the sun begins to set, and rest for the remainder of the day so that it can rise up early once more for the next days cycle.

The ground is moist from the rain fall creating that squishy sound when shoes step into a puddle, and the owner of said shoe begins to walk away without realizing that their hundred dollar shoes now have muddy residue on it. It's not like it mattered at all, they'd just throw it away, and buy new ones because they had the wealth and opportunity to do so.

As I stand on the bustling streets of Fifth Avenue, I cannot help but to allow a smirk to grace my features, my fingers on my right hand twitching in anticipation for what my new move would be.

Tourist appeared around me left and right, speaking animatedly among each other as their eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, taking in the sights that they've never seen before. It's almost too easy to notice when someone is a tourist, it's always comically obvious.

The most blatant tourist will have that stupid "I Love NY," T-shirt on in whatever color of their choosing, and it never failed to make me cringe and shudder. It's like they were screaming and begging to be robbed but hey — that only makes things that much easier for people like me so was I complaining? Hell no. If anything, they were blessings.

The tourist that were harder to decipher were the ones that held their heads up high with their nose pointed upwards, their posture a little too straight and their attire just the slightest bit unlike what a real New Yorker flashes.

They blended in well within a crowd, what's even funnier is that they even imitated the typical slang to near perfection. What set those people apart and ruined their whole, 'I'm a New Yorker,' ploy had to be the one thing no one ever noticed.

The look in their eyes.

It will always be the one thing that gives them away without fail. I don't know how to describe it, it's just something that I have always been able to see. My father loved to joke around, and say that there was a bionic chip in my eyes that analyzed people from head to toe so that I could see what others couldn't.

I'd laugh because I knew that he was just a crazy old man who loved to make jokes even though I didn't think they were funny but seeing the way his eyes crinkled in the corners at the sight of my smile always made my fake laughter worth it.

I swallow, and shake my head briefly; I'm getting too damn distracted. 

The phone in my back pocket vibrates, and that's when I can tell that I'm taking way too long. Licking my dry lips due to the cool air that causes the hairs on my arms to stand up, I look up and pretend to contemplate whether or not to enter the Prada store that stands right in front of me. Of course I wouldn't go in, I was too fucking broke to afford anything in there. Well, for now.

I take one step forward.

With a gust of the wind that dances past me sweeping my dark black hair away from my face, the corner of my mouth twitches, and I twirl around swiftly in almost a flash. My sudden movement causes me to bump into a hard shoulder, my bare shoulder rubbing against the soft wool fabric. From the brief graze of the coat, I came to the assumption that it's cost exceeded thousands of dollars. I'm good with these things.