Charlie and Speculation
The day after brutally teaching the hulking Vince a bloody lesson in the parking lot, Arthur Sterling did absolutely nothing else.
He logically speculated that if Dominic Toretto found out his childhood best friend and loyal subordinate had been beaten half to death by him, the massive street racer would inevitably come charging over to settle the violent score.
So, Arthur simply stayed completely inside his cramped apartment all day, mentally and physically bracing for the storm.
It just so happened that a few days ago, he had purchased over a dozen heavy, incredibly dense technical books related to advanced repair, automobile engineering, and complex machinery.
Having absolutely nothing else to do while waiting for a potential shootout, Arthur started flipping through the thick volumes at his small kitchen table.
Thanks entirely to the supernatural reading comprehension and photographic memory brought about by his incredibly high, system boosted Intelligence stat, Arthur did not feel much mental pressure at all while reading these rather dry, highly professional books now.
The text seemed to instantly decode itself in his brain, the complex mechanical diagrams taking root in his mind with absolute clarity.
The result was spending the entire day patiently waiting, and besides gaining a massive, continuous amount of [Reading] skill experience points from the system, until he finally went to sleep late at night, Arthur never actually waited for Dom, who he fully expected would come violently kicking down his door to find trouble.
With a bit of lingering, strategic doubt about Dom's unusually quiet reaction, he soon entered his dreams and fell fast asleep in the dark apartment.
Waking up early the very next morning, the California sun streaming through his cracked blinds, Arthur firmly decided not to sit around and wait passively anymore.
He decisively pulled out the grease stained slip of paper with the phone number Old Parker had secretly given him and dialed it on his clunky cell phone.
Soon, the secure call went through the lines.
A cautious, incredibly smooth male voice asked from the other end, "Who is this?"
Arthur shifted to a more comfortable position against his pillows before answering, his voice projecting total, unshakable confidence. "Someone told me you are desperately looking for a top notch, highly discreet car modifier."
"As long as the price is right, I am all in!"
The line went completely quiet for a long, calculating moment, and then the man spoke again, his tone shifting to business. "You are in Los Angeles?"
"Yup," Arthur replied smoothly.
"Good. We will hash out the specific details face to face."
"Come to the Burger King on the corner of 5th and Spring Street. I will be waiting."
"Got it."
Arthur hung up the heavy phone, quickly changed into some clean, inconspicuous clothes, locked the peeling apartment door behind him, and left the building.
The crumbling place currently held absolutely nothing but basic, worthless appliances.
Anything actually worth stealing, including his loaded pistol, his thick stacks of cash, and most of the heavy tools he had recently bought, was safely and completely stored inside his invisible dimensional private space, so a random burglary was absolutely not a worry for him.
After stepping out of the decaying building, Arthur circled the cracked block very cautiously to ensure absolutely no one from Dom's crew was lurking in the morning shadows.
Once he was completely certain he was clear, he slipped into a narrow, unmonitored alleyway, pulled his ticking vintage bike from the void, fired up the roaring engine, and exited rapidly from the far end.
The specific address he had been given over the phone was over forty kilometers away from his current location.
He rode the roaring vintage motorcycle for quite a while, expertly navigating the dense, chaotic morning traffic, eventually reaching the designated commercial neighborhood.
After briefly pulling over and asking a local pedestrian for directions, he finally spotted the familiar, brightly colored sign of a Burger King.
Feeling slightly surprised that a secretive underworld meeting was taking place at such a public, mundane location, he parked his bike securely outside and dialed the number again.
"I am here, right outside the fast food place," Arthur announced into the receiver.
"Table eleven," came the immediate, brief reply before the line went dead.
Arthur scanned the busy restaurant through the glass windows. Seeing that absolutely nothing looked out of the ordinary or resembled a violent ambush, he pocketed the phone and walked confidently through the glass doors.
"Welcome!" a cheerful, uniformed server greeted him the absolute moment he stepped onto the tiled floor. "What can I get for you, sir?"
"Just take me to table eleven," Arthur said with a polite, easy smile.
The server pointed toward the front of the restaurant.
Arthur turned his head and saw the specific table located right near the main entrance, bathed in the morning sunlight.
He thanked the busy waiter, walked over, and found the booth completely empty.
Puzzled by the absence of his mysterious client, he sat down in the plastic booth anyway, his eyes constantly scanning the room and the street outside.
Five or six agonizing minutes passed with absolutely no sign of his underground contact appearing.
The exact same server approached his table once again, carrying a small notepad.
"Would you like to order something to eat, sir?"
Arthur instantly recognized the polite, subtle eviction notice typical of busy restaurants.
Lunchtime was rapidly approaching, and the tables were filling up, so he casually picked up the laminated menu.
He confidently ordered a Double Whopper, a large fountain Coke, a crispy chicken wrap, and a massive side of golden onion rings.
The hot, greasy food arrived quickly on a plastic tray.
He ate the heavy meal and waited, in absolutely no particular rush to leave, letting his enhanced senses sweep the room.
Four or five minutes later, a smooth, casual greeting rang out right behind his shoulder.
Light footsteps approached the booth, and a man smoothly slid into the empty seat directly opposite him.
Arthur's highly heightened senses, intensely sharpened by his recent, massive physical improvements, snapped to absolute attention.
He looked up, pausing mid chew on a crispy onion ring, and completely froze in his seat.
A massive wave of absolute shock violently slammed through his racing mind.
Holy crap, is that Mark Wahlberg? Arthur thought, his eyes widening in complete disbelief.
It was absolutely no wonder he was so completely stunned. Sitting right across from him was a forty something white guy, of average height and a solidly average, athletic build.
The man was totally unremarkable in his casual clothing, except for the glaring, impossible fact that he was the absolute spitting image of a famous Hollywood actor Arthur had watched on the silver screen countless times in his previous life.
Arthur already knew perfectly well that he had crossed into a dangerous, parallel cinematic world.
After all, he had directly met the legendary Boss Dom and Letty Ortiz on his very first day working at the repair shop.
But as far as his enhanced memory recalled, that specific street racing movie franchise had absolutely never signed this particular A list star to their cast.
An incredible, world shattering possibility violently flashed through his highly intelligent mind, though he could not completely confirm it just yet.
"Hi, what should I call you?" the man sitting across the table asked, his voice carrying that exact same smooth, confident tone from the phone call.
Arthur quickly collected his scattered thoughts, his dark eyes still intensely locked onto the familiar stranger.
"Arthur," he replied, keeping his tone perfectly level.
He simply lifted a greasy onion ring in a casual, mock greeting, knowing a formal handshake was absolutely not an option while eating.
"So you are the secretive guy who desperately needs a car fixed?" Arthur asked, deliberately playing dumb to test the waters.
The man's sharp, appraising gaze softened into a genuine, charismatic grin. He clearly appreciated the young mechanic's dry wit and lack of intimidation.
"Charlie," the man introduced himself smoothly.
"I do indeed have a special car that needs some highly specific work. Mind showing me exactly what you can do?"
Arthur's enhanced mind raced at a terrifying speed, rapidly sifting through every single action film this specific actor had ever starred in.
Coupling the name Charlie with cars and highly illegal underworld modifications, it hit him like a lightning bolt. Charlie Croker. The Italian Job.
He grabbed his untouched, wrapped chicken sandwich and stood up from the booth with a confident smirk.
"Sure thing. Are we doing this right now? Because I am officially on the clock."
"Let's go," Charlie Croker commanded, his eyes shining with approval.
Charlie smoothly paid the remaining bill, tossing a generous tip onto the table, and they headed outside together into the bright California sun.
Arthur pointed a finger directly at his battered, ticking vintage bike parked on the asphalt.
"I rode that out here today. If you have got a car stashed somewhere, just give me the exact address and I will meet you there."
Charlie quickly rattled off a series of complex directions leading to an industrial district, then casually walked away toward the crowded parking lot.
Arthur did not wait around to watch him leave.
Pulling his heavy safety helmet on, he forcefully kick started the roaring bike and tore away from the curb.
He already had a very strong, undeniable hunch about Charlie Croker's true identity, but he desperately needed solid proof to verify his wild theory.
Even so, his pulse quickened with raw, unadulterated excitement. If this dangerous reality was not just the street racing world of Fast and Furious, but a massive, sprawling mashup of countless Hollywood blockbuster movies, the lethal possibilities were absolutely endless.
At the very least, he could completely stop worrying about awkwardly shoehorning himself into Dom's tight knit family.
Far bigger, wildly richer, and infinitely more dangerous cinematic stories were waiting for him in the shadows of this city.