Caleb was silent for a moment, he could see and feel the slight change in Rubi's eye. The subtle flicker of lounging, one he is used in seeing amongst his customers, but different in experience.
Each telling their own story. Telling more than just a story, but their own personal trauma, their past and those they have lost.
Rubi was still a child, who despite her young age, had raised herself since she was a kid. No one knew her background profile, except those she connected with professionally or even personally.
It wouldn't be that kind to say that she is the youngest here, perhaps she looks quite young in appearance. After all, she had matured at a younger age, that she might look young but she's beyond her adulthood.
Besides, this adult woman was... Perhaps to put it more simply, she wasn't the normal kid with a normal childhood either, and the last normal memory she had was ever so painful to remember.
That's because, Rubi, was unfortunately a child soldier. She joined the military here in the United States at the age of fifteen to sixteen, a little too young to be a soldier... But she didn't do it out of will, and it wasn't a choice she made for herself.
Caleb had a child, who at that age, was studying and inside the school learning. At that age, they've been living a stable life. That's why, knowing that Rubi never had a chance to study at higher education, it was both pitiful and overwhelming.
He was sad at her situation, more than he admitted he would, yet she never wanted to be pitied. This woman had the pride of a steel, and the ego of a man. She had been traumatized over her experience in the army — could it have been just the army, it would have been easy to tell.
But, no one knew, but him and Weiss the life she led at a young age. A life of violence, death, massacre and torture. One that he couldn't imagine how it was for a child her age that time.
The Middle East Revolutionary... Unknown battle between rebels and the United Arab Emirates army...
Caught in the crossfire was Americans Marine Corp Naval Seal: Regela, whose bloody squad was massacred brutally by the rebels.
The one who survived from the Regela Squad — his eyes darted at the young woman, who remained still as her eyes focused on the drops pouring outside the window. Her blue eyes, gently meshing with the seemingly gloomy white texture of outside.
Like a dark red crimson rose.
The silence was deafening, but then.
Rubi's eyes darted Caleb, her eyes firm yet sharp, as she listened to the sound of ringing. That's when she realized the clustering of rings between pauses. A rhythm on repeat, with its sinister sound.
"Weiss Shop," said Caleb, his hands clutched at the receiver — of a telephone, on the stand beside the bar, in the middle. It was an old telephone stand, compared to an actual modern telephone, it was the old model of the newest telephone edition.
She was surprised it's still working. Not many old antique models have the ability to work at this time of era, with the upgraded systematic technology. Even radio is rarely operated these days, but not completely extinct or gone. Jukebox, however, wasn't handled unless visiting some old pubs who still value antics.
"Yes, this is the place."
Suddenly, Rubi's ear peaked and eavesdropped accidentally at the conversation, between Caleb, and the one behind the phone call. "I see, my apology. The owner is currently out of town, we can't accept your request and there are no available hunters to accommodate your request."
She pressed her lips at his words, and the irking grew stronger. She slid her hands at her side, as she leaned back on her chair. "It's a contract gig, right?" She interrupted, her voice was low, but it was enough for Caleb's attention turning from one side to her.
"Yeah, we need Weiss approval to be — "
Rubi pressed her fingers on the counter, as she pushed her seat back, making that cluster noise that echoed at the shop. The sound was humming, almost palpable and constant. "I'll accept the request, as a personal approval," she said, her voice firming as she laid her palm on the counter.
"You can't Rubi, this is not a personal matter," he retorted, his fingers gently blocking the speaker of the telephone with his other hand as he looked at her. "It needed the owners approval — "
"Shut up," she paused as she inhaled. "What does that weasel know? If it's a job-job, regardless it's difficulty, just give it to me for fuck sake."
She didn't have time to idly, if the opportunity was handed to her. Even if breaking the rule, she would gladly do so. It's not rare for Rubi to do this, taking jobs unapproved by the shop and even if Caleb tries to convince her, this stubborn woman won't listen.
He breathed in deeply, the hoarseness of his voice, filled with worry, had chained down as he shook his head. "First of all," he grumbled, then pressed his lips. "Stop swearing. How many times do I need to tell you that? You are a lady, not a sailor... Second," he paused as he sighed.
"Alright, fine," he added, his voice softening despite him not being exactly happy with this. "You can take the job, but you'll have to work with Tony on this one."
She hissed a little, and grumbled a displeased purr. Like a wild cat that had been scolded by its owner. "You're not seriously asking me to," she paused, shaking her head, her hands rising up as she held her forehead. "Fine, I'll work with Tony, but I get to communicate with the client and negotiate with them."
Still, working with Tony was a nightmare. There's not a single time he doesn't accidentally mess up during an operation, if his on-field, making him a liability instead of an ally. "Hey, don't worry," said Caleb as he looked at the telephone and said. "He's not going to be on-field this time, Tony will be working as coordinator and tactician."
Before Rubi could ask for more detail, the man already put the receiver back to his ears, and turned around. In silence, she pressed her lips, her blue eyes darting a gaze back to the windows. The rain had yet subdued like tears from the heavens that never suffice.
♚
The subtle movement was irking at the shed of rain, it was silence, but the highway was ever so lightly — hitting it like a storm, the splash of rain revolved it, an eerie sound crashing through, where everything had lost its compound, like a sound of thud, washing the glimpse of thick oil and gas around the surface.
There were metallic scraps, the lights, pondering ever so roughly, prowled the side that had shredded. Glass marked the floor at each side, the shivers of rain, so as those that clatter around.
A wreckage, scarring the road with its might and sourness. It was then, the object — the car appeared from the smoke, can't be recognized from its flipped side. All its shells are from its side mirror, or towards the shape of its body, now shredded in misses, unrecognizable and scrapped.
Beside this car, was another one. A black Mercedes AMG, painted in black, gold and blue ice. Unlike the flipped car, which was painted in visible red, the black-gold Mercedes was a mirror of elegant and undamaged, except that small portion from the side.
Something, or nothing to feel right about. The rain, however, did not help wash away the black-voided oil that had splashed in gentle strokes, despite it being black, it was visible.
Was it worth the risk?
No...
A man, who's about the age of thirty, wearing a natural casual t-shirt and jeans, pressed his arm against the black-gold Mercedes and he got off. The rain poured on him as he slid up, his body straightening, as he leaned on the door of his car.
"This is a diversion," he said, his lips twitching as he raised his hand, removing the seemingly sunglasses from his eyes. "Those damn rats," he added as he bitterly clicked his tongue.
"Boss, this ain't good, all of the spots that the Ricky Kid went to have vanished."
Another one, who's not much younger than him, wearing a tuxedo, approached in a cautious manner, with his hand raised in a silent gesture. "We can't find any clues, looks like they got us good," the man added, and it fueled the man he called the boss in slight rage.
He clicked his tongue, as she darted the man in front with a sharp gaze, his eyes locked on him, like a venomous drill that would soon collapse in the moment of silence. "Find Selena," he roughly demanded. "You fuckers are useless piece of shits."
The man, his minion shrieked at his words. "But, boss, damn that woman, she had betrayed us, didn't she?" He protested with a heavy gleam.
His boss slammed his arm at the top of his black-gold Mercedes, leaving a loud sound, enough for his companion or minion to stop talking, and stay silent. "Do what you've been told, don't even ask, you hear me!?"