It appears that this story is starting to generate some interest, which is grrrooovy.  I didn't know anyone really cared. So, here's a second chapter. The third one I've been working on for awhile now cuz I was gonna have Travis know the guy, but I decided that was too well-done, so now I gotta think of something else. Anyways, here's the long awaited (?) Chapter 2…

The Wizard of 9 : Small Talk

            Wiley observed Sosh picking at the lettuce in her caesar salad.  She had already sent it back twice due to its poor quality.  Evidently she had given up.

            "We can go someplace else, if ya want?" he offered.  It was the only thing left to say.

            "No, it's okay.  This one's less bad than the others.  I'm just too picky, I guess." she replied with a shrug.

            Wiley smirked.  "That's okay.  It's cute."

            She furrowed her eyebrows at him, but said nothing.  An uncomfortable silence fell upon them.  Well, it was uncomfortable for Sosh because she could feel Wiley's eyes on her the whole time.  "So..." she tried to prompt him to say something, but it did not work.  She'd have to spark something herself.  "How was your day?"  That sounded awful to her ears.

            "It was more interesting than most." he began.  Sosh smiled.  This was good.  This meant that he had a lengthy story with which to fill the space while they waited for their meals.  "It all started last night when I was talking to a friend of mine.  She told me - "

            "She?" Sosh broke in.

            "It's nothing.  We're not even friends.  We just share information sometimes.  Anyway, so she tells me that she heard about this huge arms shipment that's supposedly comin' in tomorrow night.  So that's why I was all grinnin' earlier, 'cause I was all set to wow Price." he stopped then, stirring his coffee, and shaking his head.

            "But...?"

            "But she already knew about it."

            "Oh," Sosh wasn't sure what she was supposed to say.  "Well, that sucks."

            "It sure does," he agreed.

            He stood outside the back entrance to the restaurant.  He looked at his watch, then back at the twin doors.  Inside were the cooks, frying, baking, throwing dough in the air...He couldn't take his eyes from the flying dough...Up, down, up, down - Snap out of it!  I don't want to do this.  You have to do this.  Stop arguing with yourself!

            He exhaled in a huff, checking his watch again.  Oh, the low he was about to stoop to.  He used to be respectable - almost feared - and now he was just another petty thief.  Roland Travis would never have found himself in this position.  Eight o'clock.  Time to go.

            He wrestled with his cargo pants to get the gun out of the pocket on his thigh.  "Let's make some magic."

            The owner of the restaurant looked up in surprise as the double back doors swung open to reveal a scrawny blond teenaged to early twenties male wielding a handgun.  In thirty years no one had ever tried to shoot up the owner's restaurant.  The gun aimed at him.  The owner raised his hands in the air.

            "You own this cheese joint?" the kid with the weapon demanded.  The owner nodded quickly, not wanting to make the other angry.  "Then you come with me.  Anyone else tries anything," he shot the nearest cook in the head.  "And that will be you.  Get it?"  There were plenty of hurried nods, and then he took his hostage by the arm, and led him out into the dining area.

            "So I told him to keep the change, 'cause it was only three bucks anyway, and - " Wiley realized that she was no longer listening to him.  "Sosh?"

            "Carefully look over your shoulder.  That looks bad to me."

            Wiley turned in his chair just enough to steal a glance over his shoulder.  "Yeah, that looks bad." he agreed.

            "What should we do?"

            "Do you have your cell?"  Sosh nodded.  "Call for back-up, before he notices."

            "Okay," she fished the phone out of her purse.

            The phone on the desk rang.  Travis looked at it curiously.  That was the emergency line.  Only Price and Tibbs were permitted to answer it.

            Only they were not present.

             He had to answer it, Price would understand.  Well, Tibbs would understand.  "Mission control, how may I  - "

            "Travis?  Look, nevermind - we've got a problem."

            "Seeing as this is the emergency line - "

            "Shut up and listen.  We're at Luigi's."

            "Wow, that's not cheap - "

            "Travis!" she whispered harshly.

            "What?"

            "He's got a gun."

            "Of course he has a gun - "

            "Not Jack, you imbecile!  Oh sh-"

            "Sosh?" but the line was dead.

            A woman shifted in her seat, and he could see the table behind her.  "Hey, you!  Get off the damn phone!"  He pushed the restaurant owner to the floor, heedless of the edge of the bar, which the man's head struck.  He snatched the cellular phone out of the girl's hand.  "If you just called the cops, and any of 'em show up, I'll put a bullet through every patron present's skull."  He dropped the phone onto the floor and shot it.  The cell phone exploded into bits and pieces of plastic and wire.  He turned to the crowd.  "Anyone else got a cellphone?  Toss 'em into the cenner of the room."

Thanks for reading! Leave me an idea for where this story should go. Seriously, cuz I don't know what to do with it…