Paper went into flames in an instant. Fire spread rapidly over the fake IDs and began approaching bottles of chemicals.
Tristan dropped the blowtorch and hurried up the stairs out of the basement. Acrid smoke followed him, and Tristan had to cover his mouth and squint his eyes.
He was half-way out when a sharp sound of a fire alarm cut through the building. Behind him, a sprinkler began pouring water from the basement's ceiling.
'Shit.'
Water was only going to destroy the evidence even more, but the fire alarm alerted everyone in the store!
"What's going on?!"
"I smell smoke coming from the inside. Call the fire department!"
"There's someone inside. Was he there all that time? Check the back exit!"
Tristan ran out of the basement, not bothering to cover the entrance again, and rushed for the back exit.
His hopes to get there before police officers block his way were cut short by a sight of a policeman stepping out of the main store hall with a gun in his hands.
"Stop right there! Hands up!"
Tristan evaluated the situation in an instant.
The officer wasn't blocking his way, but to get to the exit Tristan will have to run through the man's line of sight for a second or two. This was enough time to catch a lethal dose of bullets in his back.
Through the blaring of the fire alarm, it was impossible to hear the movements of other policemen, but Tristan knew they were approaching too. He didn't have the time.
'And I liked that knife,' Tristan thought, pulling the knife out of his pocket.
It belonged to Evelyn at some point. Besides just being a good knife, it had some sentimental value.
But to save his skin, Tristan peeked out of the corner and threw it at the officer without hesitation.
His aim was terrible, but the distance was only a few meters.
The knife spun in the air, and the police officer gasped, reflexively raising his hands to cover his face and chest.
Tristan narrowed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, not happy with such words at all.
This wasn't the first time Pierce took out his anger at Tristan, but it was the first time it was so blatant.
'Asshole. He only pretends to be a painfully average person, but everybody who ever asked knows what kind of freak Andrew Pierce is.'
"Enough for today. Go home, Hayes, rest, and be ready for an urgent call at any time from now on. If there will be another call, you will need to respond much more quickly. Take your phone in the shower if you need to."
Tristan nodded, cringing inwardly, and stood up to leave.
This was going to work badly with his day job... With his other identity in general.
On his way out, Tristan caught Pierce's mutter behind his back.
"If worse comes to worst, we will need to relocate the fighting forces to temporary apartments... This will interfere with the business Mr. Clavon likes so much..."
***
Next day.
Thankfully, no new orders came from Pierce during the night.
Although Tristan had the entire gang business to think about, he couldn't put off the Californian Young Star contest.
Yesterday, he got an email with information about the next round—the final round!—of the competition.
It was going to happen in three months' time, in Los Angeles. The travel and stay were paid by the contest organizers.
Three months seemed like a long time, but was also almost no time at all.
Because for that round, Tristan will have to come up with an entirely new performance.
Although there were already plenty of people eager to help him, if indirectly.
He smirked, looking at the stack of business cards from talent agents.
When Tristan talked with them, all of them expressed their desire to provide tools, room and even songwriters for his next round in the contest.
'It's time to sign a contract with one of these sharks. But which one should I choose?'