Greg's Mart

Service had been slow at Greg's Mart, due to it being so late in the day, so Greg closed the place early. Car engines roared from outside, rushing down the street to get home. The birds in the vicinity quieted down, leaving the area almost silent as the sun set. Hues of oranges, reds, and yellows painted the sky, contrasting against the white clouds. The light peaked through the blinds of the windows, brightening up the small establishment.

The radio on the counter played the oldies station, bringing back memories of the past into the elderly man's mind. Greg smiled weakly and walked around the store, making sure nothing was out of place.

The roughhousing kids from earlier put several items out of place. The elderly man sighed, grabbing a can and going to the next isle. bent down with a small groan to put the discarded can of beans back on the shelf with the others.

That's when Greg heard the small jingle bell above the shop door ring. He was sure he had locked it. Ah well, he acknowledged the fact that he getting forgetful with age. "We're closed!" he called out as he walked out of the aisle and faced the front of the store.

Three tall men faced him. One was standing slightly in front of the other two, leading Greg to believe he was the leader. "I'm sure you can make an exception for us, right Greg?" said the soft british-voiced young man in the lead. His blue eyes pierced right through Greg as if he could read his mind. The breeze swept through his short, ginger brown hair before the door shut completely behind them. The man shoved his hands into his black peacoat in a comfortable manner.

The slimmer one of the silent pair leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. His black shirt didn't cover up the dark tribal tattoo climbing up his arm. His brown hair appeared messy, as if he had run his hands angrily though it one too many times. The man's green eyes narrowed on the old man, scrutinizing him under his gaze.

The more muscular, third guy trudged over to the window, glancing out of it with his blue eyes before shutting the blinds completely. Dust flew off of the blinds, causing the man to dust off his navy blue shirt. His dark brown hair didn't move once, even though it didn't contain gel. It was brushed back, appearing a bit fluffy in the front.

"No, I'm afraid I can't," Greg replied, shifting his weight nervously. The atmosphere completely shifted. A shiver waved through his spine, causing goosebumps to form on his freckled skin. "So, if you could please leave, that would be great."

"Where is the stone Greg?" The young man's voice was low and quiet. He portrayed his question so casually that a mere passerby would be confused as to why the greying man trembled with fear.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Greg answered, his hands shaking slightly. He averted his eyes as his weak stomach twisted into a knot. His heart began to pound against his chest the more time drew on.

A smile almost formed on the british man's lips. His scare tactics were working; this man was way too easy to manipulate. "Oh, but you do." He went over to the front counter and casually plopped down on it after adjusting his black peacoat. He watched the old man's actions intently.

Greg wrung his hands. He swayed from side-to-side, distracting the men from the fact that he was shaking. There was nowhere to run. The other two men guarded the entrance, and the only other option was the gun behind the counter. Greg's eyes darted back and forth between the men, a sense of calmness washing over him.

The young man caught it all, though. His bright blue eyes looked over at his fellow acquaintances, who in turn, watched him silently. "Don't make us drag the answer out of you old man. You know what we're capable of."

A tinge of anger spiked through Greg's body. How dare these fools come in here, threatening me over something they know nothing about! How dare they disrespect me and everything I've worked for! He thought to himself. Courage built up in his heart, and that's when he came to terms with what he had to do. His hands slowly curled up into fists. "Over my dead body." The elderly man replied with a fierceness that surprised everyone, including himself.

"What was that?" The young man questioned, taken aback by the response. Maybe this old man had guts after all.

A breath hitched in Greg's throat. He forced the next statement out of his throat, attempting to sound daunting, "I'm not letting you guys anywhere near the stone."

Suddenly, the slimmer of the remaining two men grabbed the old man by his throat and pinned him to the wall. His fingers coiled around the man's wrinkly skin, forcing himself to not choke the living daylight out of him right there and then. "Where is it?" He snarled.

"Kohl-" The british voice rang out with warning, "We need him alive."

"I'm not telling you," Greg sneered, gasping for breath. "It's in a safe place far from here. I knew you guys were getting close, so I..."

In a fit of rage, Kohl snapped the old man's neck, promptly ending his sentence and his life. He dropped the body to the ground, watching as it crumpled into a heap. Even if the kill was simple and clean, it wasn't enough. It wasn't what the man deserved in Kohl's fiery eyes. The man deserved torture, and by all that was unholy, Kohl would've gotten the job done.

But no. The old geezer wouldn't talk.

"Great, now we're back at square one. Thanks, Kohl." The british man said, hopping off the counter. He shot a look of disgust Kohl's way before shoving his hands into his pockets.

The british man was lucky that he was a colleague. Otherwise, Kohl would've taken the chance to lunge at him right at that moment. Kohl curled his hand into a fist and glared at his coworker. "Shut it, Damion! We were already at square one. He wasn't going to tell us anything!"

"Well, when the boss gets mad, I'm blaming you." Damion, the young man, declared softly with a frown. He stood his ground. Kohl's angry intentions weren't going to bother him in the slightest.

"I don't care!" Kohl snapped angrily. The third man reached out and touched Kohl's shoulder. "Not now, Ryder." Kohl grit his teeth, shrugged the man's hand off, and stormed out of the store.

Ryder frowned slightly and glanced at Damion. Damion just shook his head and followed Kohl out of the store. Ryder took one last glance at the crumpled body of Greg before catching up with his colleagues.