[Warning: some language]
Tobin Myers had been having a bad day.
Last week, Goddammit, LAST WEEK he had talked to Big Joe about the money he owed him. Big Joe had taken Tobin's offering and said that he had another month to pay off the $5,000. Damn race. He'd been told the fix was in, Buttercup Surprise was going to win. No win - no sure thing - and a quickie loan that should have been his key to easy street was threatening to be his key to the morgue.
He had a month. But suddenly Big Joe says the loan is due tonight. He has six hours to come up with $5,000, or he starts to lose fingers.
He started out with his friends. Chuck owed him five bills - nowhere near what he needed, but a start was a start. No good, though, Chuck had just scored his nose candy - not only was he broke, but he thought Tobin's situation was the funniest thing since slipping on a banana peel. Tobin at least took some satisfaction in breaking Chuck's nose, and went on.
That bitch Sandra wasn't able to help him either. She wasn't home, and her roommate said that the bitch had gotten a job out of town, all of a sudden. Tried to cower the roommate into letting him toss the bitch's things, but her boyfriend suddenly showed up, and Tobin wasn't into a fair fight. Two down. But hey, he was cool. Five hours to go.
After another hour he felt jumpy. His friends were scarce, today. Pat was on a job, Terry had won a trip the last day, The Heap was in rehab. A wave of paranoia passed over him, but he fought it down. It was cool. It was cool.
He started to hit a few of the other sharks. It might just be putting off the inevitable, but he was with that. After all, all he needed was more time, time to get his hands on the money. But no good. Smiling Sam wasn't seeing anyone, The Ripper turned him down flat. The Lizard Jew just shook his head. "You're persona non grata today, my friend. Big Joe passed the word. No loans, no gifts."
After that he had to spend a precious twenty minutes in a bar, sucking down two beers like they was water. Big Joe wanted him to take a fall? He'd beat better than Big Joe in the past, sometimes with a tire iron. He's beat this too.
The tire iron thought almost caused him to slap his face. Robbery. No problem. Find a nice, dark alley in a bad part of town, and wait until some unsuspecting rich idiot or two came by. Then it's a lesson in the School of Hard Knocks, for the one-time low fee of only five grand.
His first hit went cool. A family, actually, on their way home from seeing the movies. He threatened to cut up the wife's pretty face, and he ended up with a cool thou in cash, a watch, and a pearl necklace that would fence for half a grand, easy. He was running away from the scene when a fist the size of a Kentucky Ham slammed into his vision like a freight train from hell.
When he woke up, he wasn't surprised to find his take was gone. But it was twenty minutes, TWENTY GODDAMNED MINUTES, until Big Joe wanted his money. He was dead.
He was worse than dead.
As he staggered out to the street, a pair of Saurians approached him. He flinched. Big Joe was early.
Goon number one spoke up, "Word on the street is you need five grand, fast."
Tobin nodded, warily.
Goon number two chimed in, his voice gravelly, "Our Boss says he can help."
Tobin thought about it, but gave in. What could he do? Big Joe wanted to make an example out of him and his fingers, he was sure of it. Anything was worth that.
They ended up at some storefront in Angel City. Inside, junk was arranged in careful avenues. They went back into the store, where the light was dim.
"Mister Myers?" The voice was educated, precise.
Tobin nodded, and then realized that it might be too dark to see him. "Uh, yeah."
"Mister Tobin Myers?" The voice stressed his first name.
"Yeah. That's me. Whaddayah want?" Something was *wrong*, Tobin realized. What was it? He couldn't leave, not with the two Saurians standing on each side of him, looking as tough as God's Judgement.
"Mister Myers, I'm afraid I'm to blame for Big Joe's deadline today. I did him a service a year or so ago, and he was happy to call in your marker for me."
"What?"
"I also hired your friends. And I put pressure on the sharks. Indeed, I have spent quite a lot of time to make sure that the past six hours of your life have been filled with fear. With Terror."
Tobin couldn't believe this. "Who are you? What did I do to you, huh?" He wracked his mind. He couldn't picture anyone he knew who had this kind of pull that he'd pissed off. No one at all.
"You kicked me, Mister Myers. You walked out of the back of the Rusty Ale two weeks ago to take a leak, and you kicked me in the ribs. Once, because I was in your way, and another two times, I believe, with the fun of it." The voice did not contain any anger at all. None. He could have been discussing the weather.
Tobin wracked his brain. He couldn't remember kicking anyone. He'd come out of the Rusty Ale, yes, and there'd been this dog... no, a cat. A big cat... "What? There was a cat, yeah, but..."
His voice left him as a light turned on. Three feet from him there was a table. With pillows on it. And on top was a large housecat, with gray and black striping and bandages wrapped around his chest, a splint on one leg.
"You talk?" Tobin couldn't believe it.
"Yes. I bleed, too. And so will you. Outside of my establishment is Big Joe. You may walk out of here right now, if you like, and Big Joe will make an example of you. Or, one of my associates can give him five thousand dollars. Your choice."
Tobin couldn't believe it. "What... Why would you help me?"
The cat smiled. "If, as I said, I pay your loan, then you will go with my friends here to the back of the Rusty Ale, where you will get down on your hands and knees. And you will be kicked three times, and abandoned. Your choice."
The cat waited for Tobin's answer. At first, he thought the emotionless animal in front of him was growling at him, finally showing how angry it was. And then he realized something.
Cats don't growl. They purr.
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