Leather Is For Losers?

“I know I should’ve left you behind today,” Jace muttered as he practically shot daggers into his favorite leather jacket, the embroidered patches and ruddy scent taunting him.

He slumped against the cold stone wall, his gaze shifting out of the cell towards the far wall, examining the cracks that resided there. A sigh escaped through his nostrils as his thoughts turned to how he had gotten into this predicament.

- earlier that day -

Jace raked a gloved hand through his ash blonde hair giving it that freshly woken up look that somehow worked for him. He tucked his helmet under his arm as he dismounted his 2007 Kintama Katana, the chrome and black and blue paint job shining under the lights.

The diner bell dinged as he enter the building, nodding when the middle-aged waitress told him to “Take a seat anywhere, Hun,”

He chose a booth in the far corner, a menu tucked against the wall.

“What can I getcha?” The waitress asked, pulling out a pen and pad of paper from her apron. “You serve breakfast this late?” He inquired after a beat of silence.

“All day hun,” she replied, blowing a bubble with her gum.

Jace nodded, ordering blueberry pancakes with sausage before returning the menu to its designated spot. “And coffee please. Black,”

“You got it Hun. Have those out for you in a jiffy,” She said with a smile, punctuating her words tearing a paper from her pad.

He thanked Phyllis -her name poorly printed on her nametag with fading letter stickers- as she headed back towards the kitchen.

He downed two cups of coffee before his meal arrived and enjoyed it in silence. The dingy diner might not look like much, but he would take it any day if he could get pancakes like this.

He was almost finished when the bell chimed again, a group of three what looked to be like teenagers sauntered in, their feet scraping against the floor and their eyes shifty.

Jace wasn’t receiving a good vibe from this crew. Phyllis came out from the kitchen and asked what she could do, the words that came from the shortest of the three freezing the blood in his veins.

“Yeah, give me all da money in da register,” a handgun followed, Phyllis’s eyes widening in terror, her southern drawl coming out in a stuttered mess.

Jace’s feet carried him before he could even fathom what he was doing - or back out.

He placed his empty plate on the counter with a clink causing all four people to look at him; exactly what he wanted.

“Best pancakes I’ve ever had,” He said with a tight smile.

“Th-thank you,” Phyllis stuttered.

“Hey man, this ain’t got nothing to do wit you!” The “leader” exclaimed angrily, pointing the barrel of his gun towards Jace.

Jace put up his hands in a passive manner, a bored expression on his face and a prayer racing through his head, thankful these thugs couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

“Hey man, put down the gun. No one wants to get hurt here,”

The “leader” sneered at Jace spitting as he used more incorrect grammar to try and intimidate him.

Jace saw his opening when the guy brandished his weapon high in the air. He aimed low, sending a solid punch into the guys gut and sliding his leg up against his lower body. Jace slammed all his weight forward causing a gunshot to go off and eliciting a scream from Phyllis who ducked under the counter.

The fight became a blur of punches and kicks, Jace managing to wrestle away the two guns within their possession and hold all three off until they gave up, retreating through the door and shouting threats as they left.

Jace wiped some blood from his nose, a hysterical Phyllis running to him and thanking him repeatedly, saying she had called the police while she demanded to look at his wounds.

The police came, but despite Phyllis’s pleadings and his own to his innocence, they took Jace into custody, his leather clothing not helping and now here he was, stuck in a cell.

“You’re free to go,” an officer said as she opened the cell with a creak. “Sorry for the mixup,”

“Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket and shouldering past her. He mounted his newly released bike, shoved on his helmet and revved the engine.

“Everybody wants to judge, but nobody wants to listen,” he thought sourly as he drove away.