<div style="margin:20px; margin-top:5px"><div class="quotetitle"><input class="button2 btnlite" onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = '';      this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Hide'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Show'; }" style="text-align:center;width:100px;margin:0px;padding:0px;" type="button" value="Show"/></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;">Clyde Adam April:<br/><a class="postlink" href="http://s6.postimg.org/qtzrp0m01/Clyde_Adam_April.png">[ img ]</a><br/><br/>Clyde's Wiesmann GT MF 4:<br/><a class="postlink" href="http://s6.postimg.org/96hyqtc2p/Clyde_s_Wiesmann_GT_MF_4.jpg">[ img ]</a></div></div></div><br/><br/>Clyde Adam April parked his chrome Wiesmann GT MF 4 on the side of the road in front of Clarence's house. He'd known Clarence practically his whole life, since he was two. The man had been like family to him. Now at twenty-one, not much had changed in that aspect. That was surprising given that the man knew what it was he did, what kind of person he was. Though he didn't consider himself a bad person per say, though society saw him differently. Clarence was what one might call a true-blue friend. That was rare nowadays.<br/><br/>As he walked up to the door, he started to reach for the doorbell & smiled. That guy really needed his doorbell fixed. Sometimes he thought he just kept it broken to mess with him knowing he'd push it. He went to knock instead, but he never got the chance.<br/><br/>Just as he was about to place fist to door it flew open. There stood a woman, who was just as surprised to see him as he was her. She excused herself in an accent so country all it needed was fiddle & banjo music. He smirked at it & moved his 6'3" frame out of her way. "Pardon me, miss." He tipped his hat to her as she walked on by, his eyes following her only briefly.<br/><br/>He entered in to Clarence's home, looking back once to see the lady once more. He whistled as he shut the door, giving his friend a grin.<span style="color: #B7410E">"Damn. You old dog. You didn't tell me you had a trophy girlfriend. You could've at least put a sock on the doorknob or something."</span>He winked at the man as he joked with him.<br/><br/>He walked over, helping himself to the man's liquor as usual. He took his time, eventually whipping up two perfectly blended Ramos Gin Fizzes. He handed one to Clarence & took a seat on the couch with the other in hand. When he took the time to make that kind of complex drink it only served to tell Clarence this was no ordinary friendly chit-chat. This was business. The man owned a scrap yard nearby. & scrap yards were really good for old cars - with old plates. That was exactly what he needed right now for his 'job', & who better to deal with than family, right?