2
I ain’t a thug. It's just, today’s one of those bad days. Landlady been hounding me, and Moray wants the interest due on the loan, and breakfast was yesterday, and I prefer breakfast on a today basis.
So I'm wandering around town trying to pick up a little work, and there isn't any. Nothing not nailed down, that is. I do scrap hauling when I can-- amazing what people throw away. Just left out on the sidewalk for carrion birds like me. So , copper gutters aren't exactly "not nailed down" but what’s outside is in the public right-o-way, as I see it. And, as I said, it’s been a bad day. And then the stupid thing makes a racket smacking the cobbles, and folks got an early morning wake up call I didn't care for. So I beat it with just the one section, and I can tell you, the copper in one bit of gutter does not buy a whole tub of smokefish. And it hangs over the sides of the cart awkward.
Then I think, I’ll go visit my pal. He buys scrap stuff sometimes, when his shop’s open. Which is a problem because when it’s not open, it ain’t there, I can tell you because I’ve looked for it at four am before and it’s not just closed at that hour, it’s gone. Unless he’s still up from the night before for some reason, which oddly enough, he was this time around. Lucky me—first break I’ve had my way, I think, which goes to show how much I know.
So instead of camping out a few hours under my cart, I go in. Same shop full of crap as always. Stuff everywhere. And you would think he’d be pleased to see me, him being a pal and me having swag and all, but he gets all sniffy at me. “Just because I deal in junk does not mean I’m a fence,” he says.
For pity’s sake I tell him, it’s been a rough week, and a guy’s gotta eat. And he says “For the sake of charity, I’ll spot you a sandwich if you haul that thing back where you found it.”
Sandwich sounds good, but haggling, it’s a habit for those in the habit of commerce, so I say, “Gimme the sandwich and ten copper and I won’t leave it on your doorstep.” And this, he explains to me is not haggling but extortion, which is strictly out of code, because he’s paid his dues. And he says it snitty like that, as if to point out that I’m in arrears on that account, too. This from the man who says he’s not a fence. A Guild-dues-paying not-a-fence.
At this point, I’m insulted, ‘cause he’s got no business kicking a man when he’s down like that. He wants to make it ugly, I figure I can make it ugly for him. “Fine,” I say, “you figure I’m in so deep with Moray, maybe you’d like to help me out on that account too, for the sake of your goddammed charity. Gimme the till.”
“The till?”
“The cashbox. Hand it over.” I pulled my knife so he’d know I was done haggling and was ready to commence commerce. I’m a lot bigger than he is, did I mention that?
He wipes his knuckle against his mustache and glances nervously over at a leather bound box sitting on a display case. “Um . . .of your well spent hours today, this is not your best plan. "
“Fine,“ I said, “Self serve is ok by me.” And I go to pick up my payment for services rendered. The service I’m rendering is not rearranging his innards before I walk out the door with his cash. He outta be grateful for that.
The box, it’s surprisingly heavy for its size, which is a feature I usually like in cashboxes, except that this one appears to be heavy because it’s bolted to the counter, which is just a nuisance, and I’m out of patience by this point. Did I mention that when I’m in shape, I’m pretty strong? I figure a good hoist will take the whole top off that rickety antique case, except that just as I get the lift in, the thing lets go . . . and the box and I go over backwards, falling through the glass front of a tall case clock. And while I’m tangled up in the clockweights--and I am not making this up--the box explodes in a snarling mass of teeth and small change and clamps itself onto my face, chewing.
This is unpleasant.
Also, I can’t see, because there is a box over my face.
Also, my hands are stuck to the leather and I can’t get them off to stop the clock weights from swinging around and smacking me in the back of the head, and there is sharp stuff poking into my backside.
And the thing is, I‘d swear that that box had a tongue, except that we’re not going to talk about that part.
What with one thing and another, it got kind of stuffy inside the box, and I got lightheaded from getting smacked in the noggin a lot.
I’m not sure what happened after that, except that I woke up with a paying job I didn’t have yesterday morning, or however long ago that was. Which is ok, ‘cause I like travelling, and I’ve always wanted to see the world. That sea air’s fresh out here, ain’t it Captain? Does a man a world of good to be so far from bad influences ashore.
