Jacques is just about to leave the diner when a group of bikers roars up to the curb, parking their motorcycles in front of Marry's Breakfast & Diner. Naturally, Jacques can't help but pause, his eyes glued to the sleek designs of the bikes. They're in excellent condition.
If they were food, Jacques would be drooling.If they were human, he'd be excited.But since they're motorcycles…
…he has to hold back the urge to steal one.
Oh, how much he wants to snatch the keys from their pockets, jump on the nearest one, and rev the engine until it screams down the road.
But he can't do that.He shouldn't do that.
It's against the rules—and he's a police cadet.
He's supposed to uphold the law, not break it.
"What're you lookin' at, kid?" one of the bikers barks—the last one who hasn't gone inside yet.
"Oh, nothing. Just admiring," Jacques replies casually. Hopefully, they'll take him for a harmless passerby and leave him alone.
But no such luck.
The man walks toward him, calling over a buddy as backup. Just like that, Jacques finds himself pinned between two grown men—bikers old enough to be his father. One has a curly beard and a beer belly. The other sports crooked teeth and enough ear piercings to set off an airport scanner.
"Hey, why? I'm just a kid," Jacques tries to joke, voice light, hoping to defuse the tension.
"I know kids like you," the bearded man growls. "Actin' all innocent, but you're just a pickpocket."
"What do you want from me? I didn't do anything!" Jacques raises his hands, showing his palms—a subconscious gesture of innocence.
But the bikers don't buy it. They saw the way Jacques kept eyeing the motorcycles. These guys have been around long enough to sniff out a thief from a mile away.
Without warning, the bigger man grabs Jacques and flips him upside down, probably to shake out his pockets and see what drops.
Hanging upside down, Jacques is helpless as his wallet, phone, and some useless junk—scrap paper, chewing gum—tumble to the ground.
"Dude! You got the wrong guy! I'm not a pickpocket!" Jacques yells, panicked.
The pierced guy snatches up the fallen items—Jacques's wallet, his phone—then laughs, voice greasy and smug."Hehe. Nice phone. Bet I could pawn this for more than whatever your scrawny ass makes in a month."
"Get outta here!" the bearded biker barks, shooing Jacques away like a stray chicken.
Jacques runs off like a coward, and the two bikers finally step into the diner.
Around the corner, he ducks behind a wall, panting. His split lip is bleeding, but he doesn't look regretful. His fearful expression quickly shifts into something calmer, almost smug, as he glances at the object in his hand—the motorcycle key he swiped from the biker.
He leans back against the wall and relaxes, checking the wallet.A lot of cash. Paper money—ten times more than what his own wallet held. Jacques grins, blood faintly staining his teeth. The phone wasn't worth it—outdated and cracked—so he leaves it. He pockets the cash, dumps the wallet in a trash bin, and heads back toward the diner.
Jacques licks his torn lip. It still bleeds, the metallic tang of iron on his tongue—but it's nothing compared to the new toy waiting for him.
It's not hard to tell which motorcycle belongs to the bearded guy; he saw him hop off it.
He slides the key into the ignition.
It fits.
Easy.
But then...
He glances toward the glossy diner window, hearing the wild laughter and clatter echoing from inside. He thinks of Ethan—the cute boy, left to deal with them alone.
Jacques clenches his jaw.
He can't just ride off.Ethan might have rejected him, but that doesn't mean he deserves this.
***
Inside the diner…
The greasy hum of the kitchen's ventilation fan blended with the wild noise coming from the dining area. The kitchen was open—no walls to hide behind—just a metal counter with glass wall separating Ethan from the intimidating chaos.
Ethan slid a tray of burgers onto the counter with both hands, lips tight, shoulders stiff. His apron was already stained, and the faint heat from the stovetop clung to his skin. He didn't want to go back out there, but he had no choice. His uncle's words echoed in his head: "Be polite. Don't provoke. Do your job, and they won't touch you."
He prepare himself, picked up the tray, and stepped into the battlefield.
"Look! Mama' back with our meat!" one of the bikers jeered, thumping the table as his friends burst into laughter.
Ethan kept his head down, focused on the tray. He tried to ignore the snickering as he placed one plate after another onto the table, careful not to show the tremble in his fingers.
Because humans are basically similar to animals. The Predators knows it's prey by the fear they shown.
"Hey, sweetheart," a man with inked knuckles reached over and flicked one of Ethan's apron straps, "you sure you didn't spit in this one? Or do you save that for your favorites?"
Ethan flinched but didn't respond. He couldn't afford to.
"Oh come on, don't be shy," another one leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the booth seat next to him. "Smile for us at least. You're prettier when you smile, aren't you boys?"
"Let's remove his skirt, maybe he'll be more relax once he got nothing to hide!" one of them laughs.
They are not necessarily attracted to Ethan, but it's just their way to assert dominance. They are bullies after all.
As Ethan placed the last burger, one of the bikers "accidentally" knocked over his soda, splashing ice-cold cola across the table—and down Ethan's apron.
"Oops, you have free refill, don't you?! do your fucking job!!" the man said, scolding with scary glaring eyes.
Ethan gasps. The wetness soaked through his clothes, and the stickiness made his skin crawl, but he only nodded. "I'll clean that up."
Just a little bit more.... they will leave soon after they left. It won't be too long... be patient and hope they are in the good mood. Ethan calms himself.
He turned to get a towel, but someone stuck their leg out again, low and deliberate. He saw it too late. His foot caught, and the tray slipped from his grip as he stumbled forward.
BANG—metal clattered, ketchup smeared across the floor like blood. This time, somebody spill a cup of soda over his head and somebody else spits a bite of burger from their mouth on Ethan's body.
The laughter that followed was deafening.
Ethan, on his knees, reached to gather the scattered plates, his glasses askew and his hands trembling. He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. But his cheeks were flushed with humiliation, and he is so scared. He just hope that he can move out of this city soon so he doesn't have to deal with this anymore.
"Why is this kid so weak?" a guy with crooked teeth grabs Ethan by his hair and shake it, "why can't you just show a little bit manliness or just fight back a little? You're so weak it sickens me!"
And then, a repetitive sound of motorcycle horn is heard. It breaks the mood, and drawing attentions. All the bikers glancing over the glass window, trying to look at the part where the glossy sticker isn't there so they can look outside.
A biker with the bear belly got enraged once he saw what happened outside, "damn that pick pocket kid! I knew he's a trouble!"
He hurriedly move out of the diner and run to Jacques who already on his motorcycle, trying to grab him with intention to break a bone or two. However Jacques speeds up, running away with the bear belly biker's motorcycle, and he's really fast.
"Get him! Quick! He stole my bike!" The biker got angry.
Bullying is fun but when somoene stole your homie's motorcycle, you shall show no mercy.
All of them running out of the diner and hops into their motorcycles. They kick starts the throttle, but it fell to the asphalt, making the motorcycle can't get turned on.
On the next to him, somebody's steer just fell to the asphalt, followed by removed tire off the motorcycle.
"What happened?! What's going on?!"
Some other's biker found their wire is messed up, cut off, some find their engine was messed up with dog poops. One can actually starts his motorcycle and storms off to chases Jacques, but just right after he took off, police sirene, is heard from afar. Making the bikers running away to all directions to save themselves from the police.
Jacques, being chased by only one motorcycle, he cannot stop laughing, imagining the chaos. and the fact that only one chases him, proves that his plan and trick is working just fine.
He got nothing to worry about, except the biker apparently unleash his shotgun and aiming it on Jacques.
Easy.
Jacques speeds up, he is one with the wind now, leaving behind the remaining one biker who for some reason, the motorcycle just start malfunctioning. it begins to slow down and gradually losing it's power at all.
And then, it completely stops in the middle of the road. Apparently, Jacques remove the gas lid's rubber, making the gas stops dripping into the machine.
The biker couldn't chase even further, he lost Jacques.
He kicked his motorcycle hard and swear in anger.