Hunter parked the bike at the curb and stared at the family restaurant ahead.
He didn't hesitate; despite the stares—some openly disgusted—
he strode straight inside.
"Wel—uh…"
The manager's greeting died mid-sentence.
Hunter's hippie get-up was clearly offensive.
Even the owner, open for business, clamped his mouth shut.
Hunter noticed the instant he stepped through the door:
every diner swiveled to look at him,
eyes brimming with contempt, mockery, or revulsion.
He didn't care.
That was the whole point of the disguise. He barked rudely,
"Large beef-bacon burger and a soda-lemonade, now."
The manager snapped out of it and nodded quickly. "Right away."
Hunter grabbed a seat near the entrance.
He swept the room, letting his gaze stay defiant and aggressive.
And he wore the mask well.
That flamboyant hippie get-up screamed troublemaker at first glance.
The family restaurant usually served nearby laborers and ordinary wage-earners.
Hunter had been in the States for nearly three months now.
He'd already learned that this so-called beacon of the world was riddled with internal racial strife.
Not everyone here was trigger-happy; most citizens weren't itching for a gunfight.
In America, the vast majority of ordinary folks dreaded trouble.
Unless you provoked them, few willingly tangled with obvious thugs or gangs.
His gaze swept the diner; Hunter frowned slightly.
Dinnertime was near, yet Tali still hadn't shown.
He waited patiently and took care of his own meal while he was at it.
By seven-thirty he'd even spotted the familiar bald-headed black enforcer walk in.
For a moment he even locked eyes with the protagonist of the avenger storyline.
But Tali never arrived.
'So she's finally given up on me?'
'Or did she never believe my half-baked lie in the first place?'
Hunter had no idea why Tali hadn't come.
Realizing she probably wouldn't, he paid the check and left.
That night he found a motel near Chinatown.
He had decided to intervene and save Tali.
Besides, he had already accepted payment.
So he planned to stay in Boston two more days.
If Tali still didn't appear, he would move on.
After a sound sleep he checked out at dawn.
It was early, so he headed to a seaside fishing spot, pulled a rod from his private space, and spent the entire day reeling in fish, racking up angling experience.
By four in the afternoon he was satisfied and packed up.
He slipped into an empty corner, reapplied his disguise, and returned to the family restaurant.
Again he waited until almost eight.
Tali never showed.
He switched motels for another night.
At sunrise he checked out once more.
Yesterday's fishing hadn't quite scratched the itch, and it still granted experience.
So Hunter picked another pier and fished the whole day through.
Around five, while happily watching his afternoon Fishing skill level rise again, he finally reeled in his line. "Time to go."
Three strikes and you're out.
Tonight would be the final chance he gave Tali.
He was willing to do a good deed, but if she missed this opportunity he wouldn't press the matter.
If Tali walked into that diner tonight, he would take her by force if necessary and spirit her away from Boston and the Russian Mafia's grip.
If she still failed to appear, he would leave without looking back.
Whether she afterward remained a cash cow for the Moscow Nights Russian Gang or was eventually rescued by the avenger's hero and gained her freedom—none of that would be Hunter's concern.
With that resolve, he painted on another garish disguise before heading out, concealing his identity.
He also swapped the license plate on his beat-up bike for a fake one.
Only then did he ride to the restaurant.
'One Mexican chicken wrap and a lemon soda.'
He ordered the usual dinner and scanned the room; Tali's absence stung a little.
He pulled out a Boxing magazine and flipped through it idly.
Minutes slipped past unnoticed—six o'clock, no Tali; six-thirty, still nothing; seven, nobody; seven-thirty, Hunter closed the magazine.
He stood up expressionlessly and exchanged another glance with Robert, the former Black elite agent reading in the corner.
Hunter promptly paid the bill.
Magazine in hand, he walked out of the family restaurant.
"Heh."
Looking up at the night sky, Hunter smiled wryly—he hadn't expected he'd ever want to do a good deed.
In the end, he'd waited in vain for days.
"Forget it; everyone has their own fate."
He pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket and readied a smoke.
Just then—
As he looked away, his gaze swept an idle glance not far off.
He saw a girl, face mottled with bruises, full-figured and utterly alone, wandering aimlessly down the street.
It was Tali.
And judging by the direction she'd come from—straight from this very family restaurant.
In an instant Hunter stuffed the cigarette pack back into his pocket.
He strode to the curb, slotted the key and swung onto his bike.
Then, smoothly wheeling the machine around, he rode straight toward Tali as she approached the restaurant…
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