DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NOR HAVE ANY AFFILIATIONS WITH THE TOTAL DRAMA FRANCHISE, NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN, THE DR. DREW SHOW. AC 360, OR ANY OF THE ADDRESSES LISTED. ALL PROPERTIES OWNED BY TELETOON, THE MOODY BLUES, HLN, CNN, SONOMA AT PORTER RANCH, AND CANDY CAT TOO, RESPECTIVELY.

I ALSO DO NOT HATE TRENT! He just seemed like the perfect choice for Duncan's enemy. Btw, Daniel Cevallos is a real attorney, a very intelligent and handsome one at that! ;)

I ONLY OWN THE TAINTED KITTY AND MY OWN ORIGINAL STORY IDEAS, WHICH CAME FROM THE SCREENPLAY I'VE BEEN WRITING AND HAS BEEN COPYRIGHTED!

Chapter One: Released Back to Trouble

Monday, December 1st, Los Angeles County Prison, 3:00 pm

It had felt like years since he had seen the world without it being covered up with a fence or cell bars. The sun shone brightly, decorated by ever blue skies and fluffy white clouds, it was certainly a sight to put a smile on the face of any recently released prisoner, which it did for Duncan Harrister.

Duncan Harrister, a notorious bad boy that apparently would never learn his lesson. Despite turning his act around at one point after a few stints in juvie, he couldn't be lured away from a life of crime, which landed him in County on drug hustling charges. If he ever found that little snitch Trent, he'd make him pay. Ten years he got for not going through on an order, thank God his mother had hired him Daniel Cevallos, one of the top criminal defense attorneys (and frequent guest on The Dr. Drew Show and AC 360) who had his sentence reduced to four years, with a guaranteed early release if he exhibited good behavior, which he made sure to do. Two years later, Duncan was a free man. It was one of the only nice things his mother had ever done for him since his father passed away. After that, she promised him a share of his inheritance upon his release and that was it, no more favors. At twenty six years old, he was getting too old for this shit and he knew it. Things had to change before he ended up in prison on a life sentence. Maybe there was hope…

The sun practically blinded Duncan as he walked out the front doors of the prison. He had still managed to maintain his rugged good looks. The holes from the multiple piercings that once adorned his face had closed up, which still felt a little odd, but he was over it. His right arm was a full tattoed sleeve in vibrant colors. He had a Day-Glo Green Mohawk upon his arrival to the country prison, streaks of it still remained in his now shaggy black hair, which was a little too long and covered a bit of his spectacular teal eyes. Duncan had always been in top notch shape, lean and cut, but he had really toned his body over the years thanks to the free gym membership, one of the only perks of prison. Los Angeles County Jail was NOT a place he'd like to visit again, he felt like a lamb thrown in with ravenous wolves. He was only there on drug charges, his cellmates were freaking mass murders. Duncan liked a good brawl here and there, but he could never imagine killing somebody…

The only person that was semi-friendly to him was Chef Hatchett, the resident chef and main prison guard. His food was terrible, but he made up for it in his obviously fabricated war stories that were entertaining nevertheless. Chef was the only one to say good bye to Duncan when he left and gave him his things when he checked out. He arrived with nothing, but there was a package waiting for him. Inside was a fresh change of clothes (A black button up shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of black and blue Nike's. Whomever picked this outfit must not have remembered his usual attire of a skull and crossbones two-layered shirt, low rider denim shorts, and red high top Converse.), a set of keys and a letter. The letter was from Dawn, his mother's new personal assistant (that explains the clothing). She wrote that she had cleaned up and restocked his apartment to his liking, and included the key. The second key was for his Ducati, which his mother preferred to leave at his place, which he was thankful she still had some sense, he thought it all went to hell when she started getting the fat from her ass injected into her face. Superficial bitch his mother was.

A taxi van pulled up to the sidewalk while he was still lost in thought. He got in and was greeted by an overweight African American driver, who didn't even ask him where he was going. Was this guy a deaf mute or something? "20310 West Sorrento Blvd, Northridge." Duncan instructed the driver, managing to get a look at his driver's license. "B" was all it said for his first name. What the hell kind of a name is "B"? It had to be short for something. "Cat got your tongue, man? What's your deal?" He curtly asked. All B did was nod and start the car, driving away from the prison, and Duncan never looked back…

Duncan's Apartment, an hour later

Duncan opened the door of his apartment. Dawn had really done a great job cleaning, the place was practically sparkling. It was drug money that had gotten him this place, but family money that was keeping it. To him, it was the ultimate bachelor pad. Granite countertops and chrome finishing with stainless steel appliances in his kitchen, a huge plasma screen TV with multiple leather chairs and a couch along with an air hockey table in his den, a king sized bed and a walk in shower made entirely of marble with three shower heads and a bench. Duncan smirked thinking of all the fun times that had been had in that shower. He was glad everything was the same, even his décor. Retro lighting and H Studio sculptures, a few Michael Godard paintings on the walls, but Duncan's favorite part of his place was the balcony outside the master bedroom. It had a perfect view of the San Fernando Valley, he could really clear his head out there.

Duncan all of a sudden heard the sound of paws running, and was taken aback to see his German Shepard jump up on him. "Bowser!" he shouted like an excited child on Christmas morning, absolutely overjoyed to see his dog, and started ruffling up his fur. The feeling was mutual, as Bowser proceeded to bathe his master with a series of licks. "Ahh, I've missed you, boy, but I'm not down for a make out sesh." Duncan laughed off, gently pushing Bowser down. The last time he saw Bowser was when he was a pup, a surprise birthday present from his fiance Gwen not too long before he was arrested. He couldn't help but slightly grimace at the thought of her name. His first love, his bride to be, was now married to his worst enemy. Trent, the traitor that sold him out. Duncan had a feeling that Gwen was in on it the whole time. Good. He thought to himself. They belong together. He realized at that moment that he really didn't care anymore. She was his past, and it was time to live in the present, start over.

Duncan found a manila envelope on the kitchen counter top. He picked it up curiously and opened it, spilling out the contents. Inside were the keys to his father's Ferrari 328 GTS and to a safety deposit box at Wells Fargo, which contained his inheritance. There was also an iPhone 5s and a neat stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. He flipped through the stack and counted, $6,000. During their last visit, Daniel had told him that he was only getting a little under $500,000 for his inheritance. He knew that it was incorrect and total bullshit that his own mother would stiff him, but he didn't want to argue. That money would last for a couple of years or so, but Duncan needed something more profitable, some kind of sustainable job. There was no way Mommy Dearest would help him out, that ship had left the port and sailed out of sight.

He'd have to turn to his friends, or at least whomever would take his calls. Duncan grabbed a beer and scrolled through his phone, sitting down on the couch. Most of his contacts were from CSUN, they probably wouldn't want anything to do with him, which was made apparent by their lack of visits when he was locked up. His perspective changed when he came across a name in his phone and smiled. Geoff Jackson, the infamous party boy known throughout The Valley. They had a blast together back in the day, The Country Boy and The Punk. Duncan laughed, remembering all their good times. Maybe he'll know of something I can do. He thought to himself as he clicked on Geoff's name and listened to the phone ringing. "'Ello?" Geoff answered.

Duncan couldn't help but smirk, he still had that same surfer dude/Valley Boy voice after all that time. "Geoff, my party man! It's Duncan Harrister. 'Member me?" he asked, but he already knew that he did remember him.

"Dude, Duncan! You're finally out of prison! It's been for-freaking-ever, bro! How does it feel to be back?!" Geoff nearly shouted into the phone, causing Duncan to hold it away from his ear a bit before replying.

"It feels a little surreal, but I'm glad to be back. That place was depressing to the max, think of Schindler's List meets OZ. I'm in my old place though, back in Northridge. What about you, what are you doing with yourself, Party King?"

"I'm so glad you're out, brah! I freaking missed you! I've been hanging out, picking up jobs here and there, just living life to the fullest." Geoff tried to feign genuine sympathy, but Duncan wasn't buying it.

"You didn't miss me, it's why you never visited. That's ok, I'll let it slide. I don't think I'd visit me in jail, either. Anyways, my mom stiffed me on half of my inheritance. It's a decent amount, but it won't last forever and I need a sustainable job. Do you know of anything?" He asked, hopeful there was something. Geoff thought to himself for a moment before replying.

"Actually, yeah! You remember Tyler Krauss, The Jock? Well, him and I just got involved in an underground job with the owner of this strip club, helping him sell black diamonds from a Brazilian kingpin. We actually need a third man to help us out, you in?"

Fuck. Duncan read between the lines, and knew that he was talking about a damn heist. Geoff may have been cool, but he wasn't the most intelligent guy around, and neither was Tyler. Could he really get back into that life again? Geoff sensed his hesitation.

"The pay out is $80 million, black diamonds are making a huge comeback! Split four ways, that's like $20 million each!" Duncan raised his eyebrows. Damn, that's a lot of cheddar. I'd be set for life! He didn't even need a second thought.

"I'm in. When do we start?"

"Alright! I'm stoked, dude! Meet me at The Tainted Kitty at 9, 6816 Winnetka Avenue, Vanowen is the cross street." Geoff instructed him.

Duncan scoffed "That shit hole?"

"No, man! It's totally revamped and high class now! Plus, the babes there are off the charts! There's this one Malibu Barbie I've got my eye on!" Geoff proclaimed, howling in the process.

"Alright, dude. I'll take your word for it. See ya then."

"Later."

Duncan hung up and sighed. He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. "I really hope this is worth it. If this is the real deal, I could finally make that clean break I always wanted." He confessed aloud to no one.

A few hours later…

Duncan was all dressed and ready to go. Showered, shaved, trimmed his hair so it wasn't in his eyes, he'd figure he'd go all out in case he met a cute honey pie that he'd like to take back to his place. He looked sharp in his Harley Davidson black leather jacket, black T shirt, True Religion jeans, and black Doc Marten's. Definitely more his style, not the preppy school boy get up that Dawn had picked out. It wasn't her fault, though, they had never met before. Once he finished feeding Bowser, he grabbed his phone, he had an important call to make before he left. The phone rang forever until the other line answered.

"Hey, it's Harrister. You were right, he is in on it, so is another guy. (Pause.) Tyler Krauss. Geoff said they're helping this guy sell black diamonds from a Brazilian kingpin. (Pause.) I knew what he was talking about the minute he told me. I'm on my way now to meet with them, it's called The Tainted Kitty. (Pause.) Yeah, I'll hit you up when the meeting's over. (Pause.) Yeah, yeah. Mmhmm. I won't. You should know me better than that. I've been at this a long time. (Pause.) Don't doubt me." With that, Duncan hung up the phone and walked out the door, down the stairs to his garage, where the bike was covered with a sheet. He pulled it back like he was unveiling a statue and marveled at his bike. It was a black and white 2011 Ducati 1198, his baby. He thought about it every day while he was in prison. A shit eating grin now plastered on his face, he opened the garage door, revved up his bike, and drove off into the night.

Who do you think is on the phone? To Be Continued, Please READ AND REVIEW! :) NO FLAMES!