That's Life

The radio made an awkward static noise as it's dial was eased into place on the San Paro Classics station. The figure sitting behind the wheel of the decrepit van adjusted his red tie and carefully positioned his sunglasses over his eyes while humming along with the music coming out of the stereo. He takes the opportunity to lean down towards the brown upholstered floor of the van, ignoring the spilled drink from the vehicles previous owner. Humming away he cautiously works away at the wiring for the air bag. As the knife slides through the final wire the man replaces it in his suit jacket as he takes a break from his humming and two simple words escape his deep voice.

"Safety first."

He sits back upright and adjusts the rear view mirror clicking the seatbelt into place as he sighs, looks both ways to check for oncoming traffic and pedestrians. Nothing. The engine roars to life at least in so much as a stolen 1989 cargo van's engine can roar. The coast is clear and the foot floors the accelerator. The van rushes forward and crashes into the window of the store and backs out, revealing the new extra wide opening. The seatbelt clicks and is removed as the driver opens the door, dusting off his white suit jacket and black pants while he strolls to the back of the van, opening the cargo doors. He goes to the front of the shop walking through his new contribution to the architecture and begins carrying out small electronics, loading them into the back of the van, a laptop, an arm full of blackberries.

A smile cracked the bandit's face as he noticed the radio was still playing and he began softly singing along with it.

"I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.
I've been up and down and over and out.
And I know one thing..."

A warm breeze made its way down the dark alley causing an extended sigh to exit Alan's lips. While this may be the first warm day of the season it didn't negate the fact that he was still in an alley and this was still his home. Alan wasn't sure what he needed more right now, a cool drink of clean water or some food for his stomach. Alan leaned his back against the cold brick of the building behind him as he rubbed his stubbly face trying to remember back to the days when he had a warm meal and a roof made of something other than cardboard. The grim reality of his present was making Alan's mind wander back to what he'd left behind to pursue this silly dream of music and fame. The thoughts were finally silenced by the grumbling of his stomach. Alan reached his hand down, resting it atop his belly trying to ease it to silence. The rumbling was instead silenced by the sound of breaking glass and a car door opening. Alan bolted to his feet and started silently slinking towards the opening of the alley, peering around the corner for the source of the racket. He was shocked to see a well dressed man in a white suit jacket, black slacks with a black shirt and crimson neck tie carrying a handful of cell phones out of the ruined front of what used to be the electronics store he panhandled in front of for what little money he could make. Even more shocked when he heard the man lightly singing.

"Each time I find myself, flat on my face. I pick myself up and get back in the race.

That's life. I tell ya, I can't deny it, I thought of quitting baby, But my heart just ain't gonna buy it."

The figure paused, looking over a computer monitor he was carrying to look towards Alan's alley. Alan ducked back into the alley. He'd heard stories about the rampant crime, the psychotic criminal underbelly of San Paro but this was the first he'd ever witnessed of it and now the crazed bastard was going to kill him right there in that damned alley. Alan pressed flat against the wall praying that he would by some miracle pass unnoticed by this obviously deranged thug.

"Come on out."

No such luck, he was caught. Slowly emerging from the alley he stood timidly in the middle of the sidewalk nervously looking at the well appointed figure. For his part the man looked back at Alan, looking him up and down as if scrutinizing his clothing and physical appearance. The man reached into his pocket; Alan gulped, fearing the worst. Alan looked down a moment, waiting for the shot but instead a flash of movement in the air caught his eye just in time for him to look up and see something being gently lobbed at him. He caught the case and stared at it a second and opened it.

"You can either sell that watch and get something to eat for a night or two, or you can realize that my time is running out on this particular economic venture and join me. I'm offering a family, food and money in exchange for a certain flexibility when it comes to the legal system. The choice is yours."

Alan stared at the man then the watch and back up to the man as he went back to work carting speakers out of the store and loading them into his van. Alan looked back down his alley a moment then slipped the watch on his hand and rushed into the building as he began carrying anything he could out of the store and lugging it towards the van. The well dressed man smile as he looked at his new accomplice.

"They call me Pyro. If you stick around long enough you might get the chance to witness why. What's your name?"

"Alan... Alan Adale." He answered, still uneasy about the stranger, and for good reason.

"Like the minstrel." He smirked. "You might want to get in the van. I'd say we're done here. Can't wait to see if you can pen a tune or two about the group."

"The group?" Alan asked, climbing into the van and clicking in his seatbelt.

"Welcome to the Rain Dogs, kid."

A smile crossed Pyro's face as he climbed into the van and did up his seat belt, backing away from the store and taking off down the road towards his fence, lightly breaking back into song.

"And if I didn't think it was worth one single try, I'd jump right on a big bird and then I'd fly..."

[ - and so the charcoal ember within is as capable as providing the warmth and familiarity of a slow burning flame as igniting the spark of a wide and fast spreading erruption of fire].

The loud pop of the discharge from his gun rang out over the scream of a strained car engine.

"Jesus, don't these cops have any respect for other people's property?" shouted Pyro back through the passenger side window he was hanging out of, to Alan inside of the car.

"I don't want to make you out as some kind of hypocrite, boss but I'm pretty sure they're chasing us because you didn't respect that judge's property" Shouted Alan back out to Pyro just before he shot another burst from his weapon.

"Possession is nine tenths of the law. I possess the stuff from his beach home so now it's mine!"

"I think they're more upset with the fact you burned the beach house to the ground after you looted it! Hard turn, get in!" The car started to swerve around a corner and into a narrow alleyway just as Pyro forced himself back into the car. The cops weren't quite as agile, slamming their car into an alley wall and losing the rear view mirror off of the driver's side as it shattered and skittered across the hard pavement. The two cars screamed out the other side of the alley and back on to the road. Weaving between cars and oncoming traffic the pair of vehicles danced a fast swing standard to the tune of sirens in C-Major, narrowly missing pedestrians. Alan's full concentration was fixated on the road, the pedestrians and keeping the car on two wheels as much as possible as beads of sweat and a stony expression resided on his face. Pyro's expression betrayed his true state of mind in this rather troublesome predicament; the mischievous half smirk that caused his eyes to light up and the right side of his mouth to curl up almost broadcasting how much fun he was having with this chase and secretly hoping he could catch the highlights from several angles on the news later tonight.

"Get us on an empty road and give them a straight run at us, Alan; I have a plan."

"I hate it when you say that" said Alan, almost sighing the words out of his mouth. The car swerved onto the on-ramp of the freeway which was thankfully empty in the late morning.

"Ok Pyro, what's your master plan to get these bastards off of us?"

"One second" said the suited arsonist with almost a joyful tone to his voice as he set his rifle in the back seat and leaned down to start rooting around underneath the passenger seat, tossing a couple of empty fast food bags out the window before finally coming back up holding a hand grenade in his right hand, reaching down and un-holstering his pistol and holding it in his left hand.

"That's your plan!? Bullets? That hasn't worked so far what's going to make it work now?"

"You're forgetting the key difference" said Pyro as he started to shimmy out the window again. "This time I have a grenade! Hold us very steady." Alan did his best to keep the swerving to a minimum as Pyro hung out the passenger window, lining his shots up with the pistol before squeezing several rounds off into the squad car's windshield, missing both officers. Pyro lined his next action very carefully in his head, mentally rehearsing it several times before finally pulling the pin and lobbing the grenade right at the squad car. Pyro laughed in amazement as the grenade flew through the squad car windshield like a baseball through an elderly neighbour's kitchen window. Pyro couldn't contain his maniacal laughter as the pop of the grenade was obvious from the sudden look of concern on the officer's faces before they were obscured by the smoke emanating from the grenade causing the cops to slam the breaks on their car as Pyro and Alan turned off the freeway to find a place to ditch the car and lay low for the time being.

Three Hours Before Last Entry

The sun shined through Judge Anderson's window as a cool summer breeze moved the curtains a bit while he sat listening to music and signing warrants one by one from a stack on his desk. The soft sounds of his light jazz playing in the background were suddenly overtaken by the harsh wrapping of knuckles upon his door.

"Come in." Exclaimed the judge, looking up from his papers to the FedEx driver who stepped into the room. The driver handed the judge the package and he signed for it, putting it aside assuming that it was just another set of papers to sign. The driver showed himself out and Judge Anderson went back to work, lazily signing away at the warrants across his desk. Once more his jazz was interrupted but this time not by a knocking, but by a ringing; not an uncommon occurrence except that this belonged to neither the judge's desk phone or his cell phone. Judge Anderson began to look around to find that the noise was coming from the FedEx parcel. Judge Anderson pulled the tab that opened it and sure enough a phone came falling out onto the table. A look of puzzlement crossed his face as he picked it up, pushed a button to answer the call and greeted the person on the other end of the phone.

"Good afternoon, Judge Anderson." Came the voice through the phone. "I don't suppose you know who I am by voice alone so I should probably introduce myself, although I'm sure you've seen my name a fair bit in the local papers, the six o'clock news and most importantly, sliding across your desk."

"Who the hell are you?" Uttered the judge, more shocked than anything and certainly not amused anymore, all sense of novelty seemed to wear off and the judge's look of puzzlement changed to concern the moment the strange caller 'across your desk.'

"Now, now, Judge. I was going to tell you who I am but you went and got all rude. I arranged this little call so we could talk civilly like two grown men and I don't think I'll be continuing until you apologize to me."

"Or I could just hang up this phone and thr-"

"You probably don't want to do that. If you hang up on me here all sense of civility will go up in flames, which; if you knew what I know is a rather fitting choice of words. Let's just apologize and move forward, ok?"

"Ok, ok, ok. I'm sorry I was rude. This is just a little unorthodox."

"I understand your trepidation with this scenario and accept your apologies. Back to business. My name's Rob, better known as Pyro" he said and then suddenly shifted his tone to more of a mocking authority figure. "better known as a member of the nefarious criminal organization the 'Rain Dogs'. I'll keep this brief because I'm sure you're busy and I can appreciate that. In fact I would like to lighten your work load."

"And just how are you going to do that for me?"

"Well, I've come to understand that you're the one who's been signing all of these wire tapping, search and seizure and other annoying warrants against our little pack of dogs and I would like to humbly request that you stop."

"And if I refuse?"

"Well then you'll find out why they call me Pyro. Don't worry no fatalities or anything of that. It's just... well you have a very lovely cottage with some very lovely things in it and I would hate to see something happen to it. Of course I would be sure to remove the things from it first. Waste not want not, they say."

"I swear if you harm any of my property I will make it my mission to end you and the warrants will just keep coming and never stop."

"There's where you're wrong, Judge Anderson. But before I get all mean here I'd like to sweeten the pot. You can either say no and I burn your cottage down after I've removed anything of value, or you can say yes and receive a fantastic contribution to what ever you want. Retirement fund, new boat fund; I see the one out here needs some work so you could just get another one. Of course if you're feeling more Philanthropic I could just make the donation out to a charity in your name and have the tax receipt sent to you."

"Are you insane?"

"No, absolutely not. I know that a small $20 donation could never be enough to do this. I intend to fill one of those FedEx boxes you just got with the money."

The judge paused, looking at the box on his desk envisioning just how much money could fit inside of it.

"So, do we have a deal?" came Pyro's voice through the phone.

"I've got a better deal. You come here and I grant you immunity if you testify against the rest of the Rain Dogs."

"Oh, I'm sorry, judge that offer was not on the table, though I do commend your morals. It's good you stick to your convictions, what with the call being recorded and all. Here's the thing. Your little promise to end me just won't happen because suddenly with your cottage in ruin and the Rain Dogs suspected it would be a conflict of interest for you to keep issuing warrants against us. It was a pleasure to speak with you Judge."

With that the line went dead on the judge, quickly reaching for his desk phone he dialled 911.

A cool lakeside breeze blew through Pyro's hair. "Welp, looks like he said no, Alan. You have everything out of the cottage?"

"Loaded up and ready to roll"

"Perfect. Hand me that gas can and let's get to work."