charming.
On the upside, it’s not too hard to find Robert, and he’s alive. He’s the idiot non-Dog sitting alone in the corner trying to keep his hand from shaking while he sips on whatever they gave him when he stammered out “beer”. Nobody’s hassling him, at least until I sit down beside him.
“Robert.” He starts, which is too bad, because it attracts the attention of the Dogs. Now they want to know why I’m here, but they know he’s not to be touched, so they’re not sure what to do. One lumbers into the back. Damn.
“Who… are you?” he quakes and shivers as he asks me.
“You sister sent me, Robert. Gotta admit, I’m curious why this is where I found you.” He’s looking around, nervous. He’s worried the Dogs will think I know him. That he brought me here. Or at least, that the Corporation sent me here for him. Good. I don’t want him to feel comfortable here. The less comfortable he is here, the easier it’ll be to convince him to come back.
“It’s… it’s more complicated than you think. You should go.”
“No soap. I’m here for you, Rob, and if I go you’re comin’ with me.”
“You can’t stay!” he’s sweating visibly now, and I can tell they smell it. Great.
“Sure I can; if you can choke down that rotgut, I’m sure a hard-livin’ shamus like me can handle it.”
“Shamus?”
“Means detective.”
“You’re with the Corporation?!”
I take a sip of his drink (if you can call it that; brown would be much too nice a word) for effect before I answer. “Those are your words.”
“So you’re not?” he’s frantic now, as he’s noticed that a few of the nearby Dogs are listening.
“Those are also your words.” He’s about to lose it, when the voice I didn’t want to hear floats over my shoulder and slaps me in the face.
“Ah, my old friend. I wondered when you’d darken my doorstep and brighten my day.” I turn around and there he is, the only Dog in the country who owns a tuxedo, and you bet he’s wearing it. His hair, and there’s plenty of it, is meticulously groomed and his smile shows off his big, sharp, pearly white teeth.
I decide to lie to him, out of courtesy. “Nice to see you, Lime. But I’m afraid we were just leaving.” I hear a couple dozen guns click around the bar. Sigh. It was a nice thought.
“You can’t leave, old boy… I haven’t given you the tou r yet.” He’s still smiling, dammit, and now I feel guilty. Suspecting little Coral, getting all melodramatic. Probably would have kept with it, but Lime’s smile reminds me what a wolf really looks like.
Chapter 3: A Man Who Likes Talking To A Man Who Likes To Talk
I’m looking at this perfumed pit bull, and I can’t help but have a memory or three. Back when I was working for the Corporation, back when I was finding the people with pricetags, Lime was a pretty frequent feature of my evenings. He knew where people were, especially when they were in his basement, or his belly.
But I’ ll give him this: he was always a courteous cannibal (if Dogs and people are even the same species anymore; maybe he’s just a polite predator). A scavenger with pretensions (at least), or ambitions (in the middle), or a maybe a destiny far above the hand he’d been dealt… And while we worked opposite sides of the same two-faced coin, we got along pretty ok, considering. Lime, like me, knew the whole thing was one big joke. Sure, I had to put a few of his Dogs down over the years, and nobody was fonder of biting the hand that fed him (which incidentally was the same hand that signed my paychecks) than Lime, but… We’d trade laughs between shots, or shots between laughs. Looking at him now makes my arm ache, but it warms me up a little when I see he’s still favoring his left leg.
“So,” he says, still grinning, as his boys frisk me and take away my big useless gun and pocket the money Coral gave me, “how do you know our lad Robert here?” Speaking of, Robbie’s sweating
On the upside, it’s not too hard to find Robert, and he’s alive. He’s the idiot non-Dog sitting alone in the corner trying to keep his hand from shaking while he sips on whatever they gave him when he stammered out “beer”. Nobody’s hassling him, at least until I sit down beside him.
“Robert.” He starts, which is too bad, because it attracts the attention of the Dogs. Now they want to know why I’m here, but they know he’s not to be touched, so they’re not sure what to do. One lumbers into the back. Damn.
“Who… are you?” he quakes and shivers as he asks me.
“You sister sent me, Robert. Gotta admit, I’m curious why this is where I found you.” He’s looking around, nervous. He’s worried the Dogs will think I know him. That he brought me here. Or at least, that the Corporation sent me here for him. Good. I don’t want him to feel comfortable here. The less comfortable he is here, the easier it’ll be to convince him to come back.
“It’s… it’s more complicated than you think. You should go.”
“No soap. I’m here for you, Rob, and if I go you’re comin’ with me.”
“You can’t stay!” he’s sweating visibly now, and I can tell they smell it. Great.
“Sure I can; if you can choke down that rotgut, I’m sure a hard-livin’ shamus like me can handle it.”
“Shamus?”
“Means detective.”
“You’re with the Corporation?!”
I take a sip of his drink (if you can call it that; brown would be much too nice a word) for effect before I answer. “Those are your words.”
“So you’re not?” he’s frantic now, as he’s noticed that a few of the nearby Dogs are listening.
“Those are also your words.” He’s about to lose it, when the voice I didn’t want to hear floats over my shoulder and slaps me in the face.
“Ah, my old friend. I wondered when you’d darken my doorstep and brighten my day.” I turn around and there he is, the only Dog in the country who owns a tuxedo, and you bet he’s wearing it. His hair, and there’s plenty of it, is meticulously groomed and his smile shows off his big, sharp, pearly white teeth.
I decide to lie to him, out of courtesy. “Nice to see you, Lime. But I’m afraid we were just leaving.” I hear a couple dozen guns click around the bar. Sigh. It was a nice thought.
“You can’t leave, old boy… I haven’t given you the tou r yet.” He’s still smiling, dammit, and now I feel guilty. Suspecting little Coral, getting all melodramatic. Probably would have kept with it, but Lime’s smile reminds me what a wolf really looks like.
Chapter 3: A Man Who Likes Talking To A Man Who Likes To Talk
I’m looking at this perfumed pit bull, and I can’t help but have a memory or three. Back when I was working for the Corporation, back when I was finding the people with pricetags, Lime was a pretty frequent feature of my evenings. He knew where people were, especially when they were in his basement, or his belly.
But I’ ll give him this: he was always a courteous cannibal (if Dogs and people are even the same species anymore; maybe he’s just a polite predator). A scavenger with pretensions (at least), or ambitions (in the middle), or a maybe a destiny far above the hand he’d been dealt… And while we worked opposite sides of the same two-faced coin, we got along pretty ok, considering. Lime, like me, knew the whole thing was one big joke. Sure, I had to put a few of his Dogs down over the years, and nobody was fonder of biting the hand that fed him (which incidentally was the same hand that signed my paychecks) than Lime, but… We’d trade laughs between shots, or shots between laughs. Looking at him now makes my arm ache, but it warms me up a little when I see he’s still favoring his left leg.
“So,” he says, still grinning, as his boys frisk me and take away my big useless gun and pocket the money Coral gave me, “how do you know our lad Robert here?” Speaking of, Robbie’s sweating
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