Nanowrimo - Day 11

Still, as good as he was feeling, some things didn't change. And for that reason, he brushed past the kid's outstretched hand without even acknowledgement, walked past him through the double glass doors to the mall, and looked around for the first of many stores where he intended to spend his money.

Within a few minutes he regretted coming to this mall. This run-down plaza would never have the things he wanted. He passed the Foot Locker and the Maschiko's menswear store, both places he would normally shop at, and both actually ones that he had intended to visit yesterday. But that was yesterday. Today, he had the feel of wealth on him, the sense that he deserve more than this rotting remnant of a mall could offer him. He should have gone to Aventura instead, and would have, had he bought of it. There the anchor stores were Nordstrom and Armani, not Target and Walmart. No, he thought, this wouldn't do at all, and stopped mid-stride, turning back towards the way he had come in.

Then he saw him, a man in a pair of dark jeans, grey sweater, and black jacket coming toward him, watching him. The man actually started moving faster the closer he came, and was headed directly for Mike, weaving his way through he crowd. Mike turned back and moved on. Passing his hand over the pistol in his waistband, just to make sure it was there, he pushed his way through the thin crowd of truant teenagers, older people, and others in the walkways, glancing over his shoulder just long enough to see that the man was moving fast and getting closer.

Mike laughed to himself for feeling so nervous, and was actually glad to be in such a public place, until he remembered just how many shootings had taken place in this same mall. Just last month there had been a stabbing in one of the bathrooms, and that one hadn't even made the news stations. Sobered up a bit, Mike looked back once more, hoping that he had been mistaken in thinking the man had been following him, but finding that the guy was even closer, gaining ground, and wearing an intense look that made Mike know he was being hunted.

Fortunately, Mike had been playing around and shopping in this mall since he was a child coming here with his grandmother, and even his mother once or twice before that, when he was very little. He had even stolen from a couple of the shops and hidden from the police inside the mall itself, and he knew all of the secret places inside. Just ahead of him was a service hallway that ran to the parking lot in the back of the mall, and he had always thought it would make a great choke point if he ever needed one.

Mike took one more look over his shoulder and found the guy only about twenty yards behind him, desperately trying to catch up, perspiring in his sweater and jacket as he now pushed some people aside and slid by others, his face screwed up into a mixture of focus and frustration. Mike smiled a bit as he turned back around. It actually helped him if he guy was closer, and he slowed down just a little to try to close the gap to about ten yards, but no more.

Moving left through the crowd, trying to keep is pursuer in his peripheral vision without trying around, Mike made howls way over to the large double doors with the push bar,the exit to the hallway. When he reached them, he pushed one side open and turned fully around, looking he guy directly in his eyes, wanting the guy to now that he was on to him.

He pushed his way through the door and its powerful spring hinges pulled it immediately shut behind him. Before he heard the slam of the door, he was already running down the hall, dashing straight for a cove on the left side of the hallway. It was just about seven or eight feet across and a few feet deep, just enough to hold a couple of soda or candy machines, but one of the machines had been taken out over a year ago, probably broken, leaving an open space there big enough for a man to hide in.

As soon as he reached the cove, Mike slipped into the empty space and pressed his back against the wall, facing away from the direction he had come. Then he waited.

In a moment, he heard what he was waiting for. Listening closely, his head as close to the corner of the wall as he dared, he heard the huge, heavy door open and close loudly, and heard someone step in on the concrete floor and then suddenly stop. After just a moment or two, he heard footsteps running his way, and he moved back from the edge, pressing himself even closer to the wall, while slipping his gun out of its place at his waist.

As the footsteps came quickly closer, Mike squeezed the grip of the gun and felt the coldness of the metal give way to the warmth of his hand. He felt the guy come around the corner before he saw him and crouched down a bit. When the man came running by, completely unaware of him, Mike grabbed his left wrist and used his own momentum to send him slamming into the soda machine. Before the guy could recover from the impact, Mike was already behind him, pulling the left arm up behind his shoulder blades and pressing muzzle of the pistol against his neck, right underneath the jaw, so that it dug in.

"What, punk?" he hissed in the guy's ear. "What now, son?"

"Man, I'm sorry," the guy cried out, twisting under the pain of his arm, but obviously to doing to try to get loose, for fear of the gun against his neck.

"Sorry as hell," 'Mike said, moving the gun around to the back of the guy's head and pressing it against he back of his skull. "Who sent you? Corleone? Dagon?"

"I don't know those guys man," the man said brought forced breath, "I heard you battling outside. I wanted to talk to you." The guy choked on his last words, and his knees buckled a little, causing him to slip down the side of the soda machine until his entire front from forehead to hip was flush against it.

Mike pulled the gun back and turned the man's face more toward him. He certainly didn't look familiar, and didn't seem to be in the business. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Business card," the guy gasped, "in my pocket."

Mike turned the guy around slowly and pushed him back against the machine. Motioning with his head towards the guy's pockets, he stepped back just a foot and kept the gun pointed at his chest.

The man slowly drew a bright blue and orange business card from his pocket, keeping his eyes closed the whole time. He held it out in front of him, hand trembling.

Mike took it and read it. Alex Alaimo, Time Waits Productions, Management and Headhunting.

"Gimme your wallet." Mike said.

The guy opened his eyes, and quickly complied. He handed alike his wallet, slowly, and then drew his hand back fast.

Mike opened it and looked at the driver's license. New York, but the name and face matched. He looked at Alex Alaimo for a moment before handing back his wallet. Clicking the safety on his gun and replacing it in his waistband, he stepped back and looked both ways down the hall. When he looked back, Alex had sunk to the floor with his back against the machine and his head in is hands between his knees.

Mike crouched down on his haunches in front of Alex. "Sorry about that bro," he said, slapping Alex playfully on the leg, "you can't be too careful around here. The last guy that got chased in this mall never made it out alive."

Alex took three deep breaths. "You're right, man," he said, "I tried to talk to you outside, but there were a few people around, and I could get at you. Then I tried to catch up with you inside, but ... Well, you got moves, man."

Mike smiled at this and stood up slowly. Reaching out his hand, he offered to help Alex up. Alex must have still been shaken a bit, because he took Mike's hand, but still had to brace himself by resting his other hand on the front of the soda machine to get himself up.

Mike clapped him on the shoulder. "So," he said, trying to sound more friendly, "Time Waits Productions." Turning the card in his hand twice, he looked from the text back to Alex. "Never heard of it."

"No, nobody has," Alex said, scratching his head and looking sheepishly at Mike. "Except for me, a secretary I've already had to let go, and a couple of investors, nobody knows we exist." He rubbed his face and then dropped his hands to his side. "Oh, and the bank." he added.

Cocking his head to one side, Mike looked Alex over, unsure what to make of him. He could sense something going on, but couldn't quite figure out what this man could do for him. "Sounds like a personal problem."

"Worse than that. But we might be able to help each other out."

"My office is right around here. Let's talk this over." Mike said.
Fifteen minutes later, they were both seated at a table near the Cajun Grill, both with a heaping page of bourbon chicken and rice. Mike dug in like he hadn't eaten in days, but Alex only moved his around a little. On the way over, Alex had told Mike how he had grown up in Miami, but moved to New York to get into the music industry, how he had been trying to use the business to funnel some of the talent here in Miami up to the labels and agencies in New York City. He told Mike how hard it had been so far, that anyone who was trying to make it in music down here was already hooked up with agents and managers, and that he had decided that the way to get started was to find some raw, untapped talent waiting to be discovered.

"And that's where you come in, Mike." Alex said, starting to recover from his fright and eat a little rice.

"So, what," Mike said through a mouthful of food, "you want to sign me or something?"

"I wish I could," Alex slopped some of the sauce from the chicken onto the rice and mixed it around, "it'd be the first break I've had so far."

Mike looked at Alex suspiciously.

"Look" Alex said, "I know this sounds stupid, and I'm grasping at air here, but at least I can offer you something, a shot."

Mike put down his plastic fork and pushed his tray away. "Go ahead." he said, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"I have a friend who's one of the new producers at 106 & Park. His job is to find talent for the weekly battle segment. You'd be perfect for it. I saw you outside. You're not only good, but you're quick. Plus you have an edge, not just some fake thug persons to market, but a hard, dark kind of edge that draws people in."

Mike leaned forward. "You kidding?"

"Just think," Alex said, leaning in to match Mike's posture, "didn't you see all the people gathered around you, listening to you take down that kid?"

Mike had noticed a few people, but only thought they we're distracted on their way in, but maybe Alex was right. "I guess."

"I'm telling you, you get on BET and do your thing, and the something will happen." Alex's face lit up as he talked. "Except instead of a couple dozen shoppers, it'll be a couple hundred thousand viewers, and every one of them dying to know when your debut album is coming out."

Alex shoved a couple of mouthfuls of rice and chicken down before going on.

"See, everybody these days wants to feel like they were the first to discover some brand new thing. They get tired of the same artists so fast. And hip-hop is the worst out of all of them."

Mike watched him closely. "So what about brothers like LL Cool J?"

"For every Cool J you could name, I can give you about ten Nelly's, whose first hit song was the beginning of a steady decline from freshness to staleness, all because the people moved on, looking for the next hit. They're worse than junkies. The smart game is to keep reinventing yourself and embed yourself in the back end of it, behind he scenes. Either that, or save as much money as you can and get out when your stock starts to go down."

To Mike, it seemed like there was a whole it of logic to what Alex was saying. "So what would you get out of this?"

Alex smiled at Mike, and pointed at him with his fork. "Exactly," he said, "you really are quick." He chewed up one more huge mouthful of chicken and swallowed it. "Here's the deal," he said, "you do a seven day run on 106 & Park, and after that, I'll give you a recording contract."

"Why do I need the show? Get me in the studio now."

Alex shook his head, "Look, if I had unlimited funds and you had more exposure, either I could get hat for you, or you could get it on your own, but I don't and you don't. You do his, you get the exposure, and I can find a couple more investors to give us he money." Alex popped a plantain in his mouth. "Plus, you never know, maybe if you can make a big enough impression that some of the big producers with want to work with you." Alex looked straight into Mike's eyes and stretched out his hand. "But the deal is, that after the seven days, you sign a contract with me, and only with me. I'll make everything else right once that happens."

Mike didn't have to think much about it. Taking Alex's hand, he shook it, already starting to feel things at work, inside him and out, bringing events together in his favor.

The more Alex talked about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. Anyway, ever since he had mentioned the show, Mike had already begun to picture himself knocking out challengers night after night, becoming a fixture on the show. Before he knew it, Alex had talked him into flying up to New York in two days to compete on the show, and Mike was sure that everything would happen just like Alex said.