[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/200224/137f1ef03115e082ec2e15c1c3d9e2f0.png[/img][/center]


The knock at the window went unheard a few times, along with the muffled voice on the other side, which was anything but pleased. A sharp tap on the glass with the tip of a 9mm handgun definitely did the trick though, as the short-haired driver awoke from a dead sleep, their eyes opening wide to see the man in a navy blue business suit standing outside.

[i]"Shit…"[/i] The driver grunted under their breath as tired eyes were rubbed under black RayBans, enough for the mascara around sky blue eyes to smear just a little against olive-toned skin. 

"Roll down the fuckin' window." The muffled -but understood- voice of the other demanded, surveying the area for a moment before looking back at the driver, who was adjusting their black, tattered motorcycle jacket which smelled of old leather and motor oil. 

"Now." 

"Okay, okay, chill man." The driver mumbled as they cranked the window all the way down. There were very little modern amenities with the car, which was a sleek black 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle SS. Rebuilt by the driver over the course of several years, from junk, to a stylish piece of art, and a beast of an eight-cylinder engine. Most of what was used were refurbished, but original, parts which were hard enough to come by. All in all, it was the most prized possession of the one driving it. It was definitely considered their [i]baby[/i].

"I assume you missed the three phone calls and several text messages?" The man asked, his voice stern as though being reprimanded by a disapproving father. The other looked down at their phone and realized it was true. 

"Look, I'm sor-"

"We don't need your excuses, Joss." The man leaned over with a hand propped on the door, and adjusted his eyeglasses. “But you need to get your shit together or you’re out, capisce?” 

Working for an Italian crime family in New York City felt like working for all the cliche mobster films rolled in one. Sure, they treated you well when you did your job, but you had to endure some of the oddest characters. Some worse than others. [i]This[/i] guy, however, was more or less in the middle of that spectrum, but Joss knew there were no real friends in their line of work, just assholes and lesser assholes.

“Yeah, I get it.” They signed, lighting up a cigarette that had been sitting on the dash for awhile, and taking a long drag.“

“Jesus girl, why do you still smoke those things. Don’t you know they can kill ya?” The older man smirked, his yellowed tobacco-stained teeth peaking through dark lips. 

“ ‘They.’ ‘Them.’ ‘Driver.’ Or just call me by my name.” Joss interjected.

“What?” 

“Don’t call me ‘girl’.” The other said, blowing smoke out the window and into the man’s face. 

“Fuck’s sake, yeah, I forgot about that ‘non-binary’ bullshit.” The man shook his head. “Look, I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you’re on time tonight. Remember. Sonny’s over on twenty-third. Eleven sharp.” 

And with that, the man tapped the hood of the car and walked away across the street, disappearing around a corner. Joss checked the time, barely quarter to eight in the morning, so still plenty of time to grab some breakfast, head home and shower, and possibly sleep off the rest of the lingering hangover from the night before. The engine roared to life, and moments later, the car and driver were gone.