Shop's raid

A line of cars approached a small shop sitting at the edge of the town. Give how this place dealt with motorbikes of all sorts, its location was nothing to be confused about, given all the regulations that limited the sales and usage of those.

For a bystander, the entire thing might look like a simple family gathering. The cars weren't special either, ranging from autonomous electric ones at massive rovers ending.

The local cult of the motorbikes made this kind of event pretty usual, given how big of a moment in a youngster's life it was to get a legal bike on his own.

The first signs that something was amiss appeared when the people started getting out of the cars. And while there was nothing strange about the group being almost entirely male, the complete lack of people young enough to be the center of such an event was surely strange.

After all, getting a bike was a big matter only for a youngster. It meant that said youngster passed through the mandatory exams and could now embark on the new part of his life, one accompanied by a trusty vehicle.

For adults, getting a replacement for their old or destroyed bike was no longer a matter big enough to organize an entire event around it.

"Tom, are you really sure?" Cleo asked when the two exited the vehicle driven by Cleo's dad.

"Thanks for the lift, Uncle," Tom nodded his head to the burly man who followed right in their steps. Tom's lack of response to the girl's inquiry didn't escape anyone's attention.

"I know she already asked it, but are you really sure?" the burly man pressed the issue, looking at the small youngster beside him with a hint of worry in his eyes. In the entire group of over forty people, he was the only one who Tom filled in with how the situation looked in reality.

"I can't be sure or unsure about something I don't have a choice at, to begin with," Tom countered before making his way forward, straight towards the doors of the building.

"Welcome in the Rusty Bike," an old man sitting behind the counter greeted the group as soon as Tom stepped inside. He quickly scanned the crowd outside through the glass panel beside the door before raising his head and looking at the customers with a smile. "How can I be of service?"

Tom approached the counter while pulling out a small piece of paper from his pocket. He then brought this paper up and passed it forward.

"Do you recognize this serial number?" he asked in a calm voice.

"Huh?" The elder looked at Tom's face only for his sour to smile in the next moment. He then sighed deeply and grabbed the piece before reaching underneath the corner and pulling out glasses.

"Sir... Is that about one of our bikes? If there are any troubles..." the cashier asked before trying to mediate what he believed to be the problem.

"Do you recognize this number?" Tom repeated his question in the same, monotone voice as before.

"Sir, if I may..." the man attempted to say something.

"Do it," Tom didn't even turn around. He remained just as motionless and disinterested as he was ever since he appeared before the counter.

Yet, that didn't stop the part of the crowd that he brought with himself from making a move.

In an instant, the men got to work. The glass panel that the cashier used to scan the situation gave up after a single smash of a fist. Other men started kicking the bikes in the shop, pushing the shelves with lubricant and other maintenance wares to the ground.

In a single moment, what used to be a nice and orderly shop turned into pandemonium.

"That will suffice," Tom gave another order, instantly putting an end to the ongoing chaos. He then tapped the counter before asking again, "Do you recognize this number?"

"Sir, yes, sir," the cashier answered in a weak voice, unwilling to even protest.

"Who was responsible for the sale of this bike?" Tom finally moved on to another question.

"Boss, what's going on..." a man suddenly rushed through the doors, only to freeze in place when he saw the chaotic interior of the shop.

The old man hung his head low before nodding it to the side. "That's him," his voice trembled when he ratted out his worker.

"Guys?" Tom finally made a move. He turned his head to look at the men inside the shop before nodding his head towards the newcomer. His movements were still as slow as before as if the entire thing didn't affect him at all.

"Wha..." the middle-aged man who entered the scene in the worst time possible didn't even finish his question. It appeared he was no idiot. He turned around and shut the door closed behind him in an attempt to run.

Regretfully to him, those doors led to the workshop of the place. As such, a single kick of one of Tom's henchmen was more than enough to crack them open.

Compared to Tom, his people didn't bother acting cold or mighty. In just a fewteen seconds, the man was brought back to Tom's feet before the men threw him to the young man's feet.

"Alpha, delta, sierra, alpha," Tom muttered in a silent voice right in the face of the trembling man. "Seven, three, six, six, eight, one," he continued, his eyes glued to the eyes of the man. "Do you recognize this number?"

Tom didn't wait for the man to answer the question. As soon as he asked it, he straightened his back and walked out of the shop. By the time the screams of pain reached his ears, he was already leaning on the side of Cleo's Dad's car.

"Ah," Tom sighed, exhausted to no end by the situation. The guilt of pushing the guilt of the likely planned assault on the innocent employee of the shop continued to weigh on his consciousness. "Do you have a smoke?" he asked his adopted uncle.

"I..." the man clearly hesitated before shaking his head and reaching to his pocket, "here you go."

Tom wasn't a big smoker. Outside of the few instances when he sneaked a cig as a kid, he never really got the pleasure of wasting his health like that.

Yet, with the screams of the man he condemned to a pitiful fate, he just had to take his mind off the situation.

For a moment, Tom just stood in place, focusing on the smoke in his fingers.

'This had to be done,' he attempted to convince himself in his thoughts. 'If we don't play dumb with the Hub, they would figure out we are up to something. I had no real choice here,' he continued his mental struggle, pushing the pained screams away by committing all his attention to the harsh taste of the tobacco in his mouth and throat.

Then, the screams suddenly ceased. Tom raised his head and looked at the shop only to see one of his men coming out of it with a weird expression on his face.

"Boss..." the man started before averting his eyes as if something was bothering him.

"He actually confessed."