Brian Appears
Old Parker was surprisingly efficient this time around, proving that a healthy dose of fear could be a fantastic motivator.
By early evening, Arthur Sterling securely received the thirty thousand dollars that the older mechanic had promised as compensation for his sudden, violent departure from the garage.
Along with that hefty sum, the ten thousand dollar final payment for the miraculous car modification from Charlie Croker's side was also smoothly transferred into his account.
After wandering around the sun-drenched streets for the entire afternoon, Arthur was in a genuinely fantastic mood.
He walked into an electronics store and purchased a sleek, brand-new phone and, while he was at it, set up a completely untraceable new number for himself to cut ties with the recent chaos.
Immediately after securing his new line of communication, he bought a high-end laptop with excellent processing specs, preparing for the inevitable moment when he would need to start digging into secure networks or communicating with Lyle.
All together, these essential technological upgrades only cost a bit over two thousand dollars, barely making a dent in his newfound fortune.
Of course, Arthur didn't only do casual shopping in the afternoon.
He wasn't planning on completely replacing his predecessor's trusty vintage motorcycle just yet; it was reliable, low-profile, and he had already invested sweat into it.
Earlier in the week, while still working at the neighborhood Repair shop taking full advantage of the quiet hours after everyone else had clocked out and gone home, Arthur had borrowed the shop's heavy-duty pneumatic tools to give the motorcycle a thorough sandblasting and deep rust removal.
Along the way, utilizing his advanced mechanical knowledge, he had also scavenged some inexpensive, reliable spare parts from the scrap bins and expertly installed them on the vintage frame.
However, there were still a few critical spots on the motorcycle's drivetrain and suspension that absolutely required brand-new, factory-grade parts.
Before the violent home invasion and his subsequent payday, Arthur hadn't been in a rush to replace them simply because he didn't have the disposable income.
But this time, with his pockets flush with cash, he simply rode to a massive, well-known store specializing in high-performance car and motorcycle parts, fully intending to get the premium replacements he needed.
Not bad at all; there was a fairly large, heavily stocked parts store situated just a few blocks away from his old [Repair] shop.
"Welcome in!"
Just as Arthur walked through the sliding glass doors, a cheerful voice greeted him over the soft hum of the air conditioning.
Arthur nodded with a polite, easy smile and walked up to a white older man standing behind the main cash register, who clearly seemed to be the store manager.
"Hello, where exactly are the motorcycle parts located?"
"Right over there in the back!"
The old man pointed a weathered finger toward the far aisle. Their massive store mainly dealt in heavy American muscle car parts and imports.
There were far fewer motorcycle parts in stock, so they were all neatly relegated to a back corner display.
Fearing Arthur wouldn't be able to easily find the specific section in the sprawling store, the older manager quickly turned his head and called out, "Brian, take the customer back to Section B4!"
Following his loud call, a well-dressed, athletic young white man with short blonde hair quickly walked over from a nearby aisle, wiping his hands on a shop rag.
"Got it, Manager!"
Arthur instinctively looked at the approaching youth, and his calm expression instantly changed, a tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of shock crossing his eyes.
That fairly handsome, distinctly recognizable face allowed his enhanced memory to identify the man immediately.
This guy was none other than Brian O'Conner, the undercover FBI agent.
As an active federal agent, Brian was now casually appearing in a local performance parts store, wearing a nametag and a standard uniform shirt.
It looked exactly like he was legitimately working here, building his cover story.
Arthur's highly intelligent mind spun rapidly, and he quickly realized that the FBI must have already started intensely investigating the dozen or so high-speed highway robberies that had occurred consecutively across California.
In the past few years, Dom and his heavily armed crew had been repeatedly hijacking transport trucks on the open highway carrying highly expensive electronic equipment like DVD players, computers, and cell phones.
Moreover, they had a strict moral code and only ever knocked the terrified truck drivers unconscious, intentionally leaving behind a massive trail of living witnesses.
The FBI was already globally renowned and highly skilled at gathering criminal intelligence, so Arthur wasn't surprised at all that federal authorities had eventually locked onto Dom and his tightly knit team.
On the contrary, the local California Police and highway patrol had been blindly investigating these spectacular heists for several years without a single solid lead.
Up until now, local law enforcement hadn't even come close to finding Dom and the others.
That staggering level of bureaucratic incompetence was what Arthur found most surprising and unbelievable about this reality.
"Hello, sir. Please follow me right this way!"
Brian noticed that the young customer standing in front of him seemed to be intensely sizing him up, his dark eyes lingering just a fraction of a second too long.
However, playing his undercover role perfectly, Brian didn't think much of the scrutiny and simply greeted him with a bright, disarming smile.
Arthur hurriedly regained his flawless composure, letting his expression smooth out into mild curiosity.
Knowing the friendly guy standing in front of him was actually a highly trained, lethal FBI agent, Arthur was deeply afraid the man might spot something suspicious about his demeanor or his unblinking focus.
So he also nodded to Brian with a warm, casual smile and asked as if making simple small talk, "New here?"
"I come in a bit, but I don't think I've ever seen you working the floor before."
Brian was indeed brand new to the undercover assignment, and he hadn't even opened his mouth to formulate a smooth lie yet when the older manager, eager to be helpful, spoke up first to explain on his employee's behalf.
"Brian is a newcomer who just arrived the day before yesterday, but he's worked extensively in this performance industry before."
"If you have any complex mechanical questions, you can definitely ask him."
Arthur looked at the older manager, nodded in polite acknowledgment, and strategically chose to say nothing more.
Brian then made a welcoming, easygoing gesture again and led Arthur down the long aisles toward the specialized motorcycle parts area.
For the rest of his time browsing the shelves, Arthur intentionally didn't interact much with Brian, keeping his head down and his focus strictly on the metal components to avoid leaving any lasting impression on the federal agent.
He bought several cans of premium matte spray paint, fully intending to completely repaint the old, flashy pattern on the vintage motorcycle left by his predecessor to make it completely untraceable.
Arthur also purchased a brand-new, significantly more powerful performance engine block and took the perfect opportunity to grab replacements for several worn-out gears and suspension parts that were constantly malfunctioning.
In an instant, at the checkout counter, he spent over five thousand dollars in crisp bills, which was almost enough to buy a cheap, brand-new commuter motorcycle right off a showroom floor.
However, Arthur knew perfectly well that this money was definitely well spent.
Because the vintage motorcycle, once heavily and precisely modified by his own supernaturally guided hands, would have a raw performance output definitely no less than many modern, high-performance street bikes.
It would be more than enough speed and handling to keep him alive for now.
After paying the cashier, Arthur walked out the glass doors, his arms straining as he carried a massive, heavy pile of boxed items entirely by himself.
Looking at his humble vintage motorcycle waiting patiently in the parking lot for its massive modification, he now realized with absolute certainty that it was time to buy a proper car or a heavy truck.
Otherwise, carrying loads like this, he couldn't just magically store things directly into his invisible private space right in front of civilian pedestrians or security cameras.
Therefore, lacking four wheels was becoming still somewhat troublesome and a massive security risk.
In the end, Arthur grit his teeth and continued carrying the heavy items down the sun-baked sidewalk.
He walked all the way away from the parts store's perimeter, ensuring he was completely out of the sightline of any mounted surveillance cameras, found a deserted, trash-strewn alleyway, and seamlessly stuffed everything into the void of his private space.
Arthur then immediately doubled back to the parking lot, hopped onto his motorcycle, kicked the engine to life, and left the area.
It was entirely too late in the evening to start looking for a new, secure place to live today, so he prepared to stay at a cheap roadside motel for the night to lay low.
America didn't really have its own deep, ancient culinary tradition; besides the various, greasy fast-food joints plastered on every street corner, there were only dazzling, sodium-filled arrays of canned goods and frozen, semi-finished products in the massive supermarkets.
Out of sheer, morbid curiosity before, Arthur had bought a bunch of random, brightly colored canned goods to test.
Half of them were overwhelmingly sour pickled vegetables, and the other half were various, highly processed fast-food meats packed in thick gravy.
However, the motel room clearly wouldn't let him cook his own fresh meals personally, so for a hot dinner, Arthur treated himself to a hearty, massive meal of delicious, heavily spiced Turkish Kebab at a nearby immigrant shop.
After eating until he was completely full, the rich smell of roasted meat clinging to his jacket, he rode his motorcycle slowly around the neighborhood for a while to ensure he wasn't being followed by Slant's remaining friends.
Eventually, feeling secure, he chose a quiet motel that looked like it had a decent, clean environment and checked in at the front desk under a fake name.
After coming out from a steaming hot shower that washed away the day's tension and thoroughly drying himself off, Arthur pulled on a comfortable pair of dark boxers.
Then, after a moment of deep, strategic thought, he pulled out his brand-new phone and boldly took the initiative to call Mia.
The ringing tone echoed in the quiet room, and the call was connected shortly after.
Mia's soft, familiar voice then came through the speaker: "Hello, Arthur, where are you right now?"
Arthur had seen the undercover Brian today and was deeply, fiercely worried the handsome federal kid would actively take the chance to hit on Mia at her family cafe to build his cover.
So he made the calculated call, fully intending to deepen his emotional bond with her and secure his territory.
Just as he opened his mouth and was about to speak, Arthur suddenly heard a distinctly different, heavy sound of breathing echoing faintly in the background of the call.
Startled at first, his enhanced senses instantly analyzed the acoustic feedback, and he quickly realized exactly what was happening on the other end.
The phone must be sitting on speaker mode right now;
Mia definitely had someone else standing right beside her in the room.
With just a brief, logical turn of his mind, Arthur immediately guessed the towering identity of the person listening in next to her.
It has to be Dom, Arthur realized, his eyes narrowing as a cold smile touched his lips.
With that crucial piece of tactical information, Arthur soon formulated a brilliant, manipulative idea.
So he replied warmly, keeping his tone perfectly level and affectionate, "I'm still looking for a new, safe place to stay after what happened. I'll definitely contact you once I'm fully settled."
"By the way, Mia, there's something incredibly important I need to tell you right now."
Arthur let a note of grave seriousness creep into his voice. "Please tell your brother for me that someone seems to have their eye closely on him."
As soon as he strategically dropped that massive bombshell, Arthur keenly felt the immediate, physical shift in the atmosphere over the line.
On the other end of the connection, the heavy, suppressed breathing of the eavesdropper suddenly became significantly sharper and much, much heavier.