In an instant, my eyes fly open and I lurch upward, gasping for air and clutching at nothing but the tangled bed sheet wrapped around my claws. It takes a moment for the red to fade from my vision and my breathing to steady. My heart beats loud in my ear canals, its throbs slowly draining into dull sensations of pain across the still freshly-sutured gashes peppering my body. I unconsciously place a hand on my bandaged arm only to quickly pull it away as the ache rapidly turns to a sharp sting.
I sigh and close my eyes. What was I dreaming about? Whatever it was, it startled me awake something fierce.
My eyes reopen, and as they regain focus I glance to my side. The spot where Bianca would normally be laying is vacant. The lack of bright sun angling itself across my bedroom floor gives me a clue to the riddle of time; my bedside clock quickly solves it. Nearly eleven AM. I try to roll my shoulders but the lacerations in my back instantly remind me of their existence, blinding pain causing my jaw to clench and my breathing to hitch.
This is how it’s gonna be for a while, I suppose.
I lurch out of bed, the normal aches of a rough night’s sleep drowned out by the boiling lava pouring from the bandaged scales and flesh under my arms and back. I grit my teeth and plant my tail on the wood flooring beneath me to keep from slumping into the bed again. After a few moments, the pain subsides enough for me to shuffle over to the bathroom sink, pour a glass of water and uncap the bottle of painkillers my doctor prescribed to me.
Let’s see… “Take one every eight hours, as needed.” I briefly consider taking eight every one hour, but decide to play it safe and pop only two of the suckers down my throat. I’ve heard of fellas getting addicted to this stuff, and I’m not about to start collecting vices beyond the few bucks Bianca lets me spend on sports betting each week. I think the Yankees got a real shot this year, especially with all-stars like Yogi Terra and Mickey Mangle leading the—
My hopeful rumination is interrupted by the lacerations on my back jolting me with pain as I straighten up. I hiss through my teeth, letting out a silent curse at the son of a bitch who put me in this sorry state. Even though Murphy is dead, I can’t help but continue being angry at him. He could have at least done me the courtesy of keeping his attacks localized. Eviscerated arms I can deal with, but the punctures on my plates and trapezius muscle are especially annoying.
I didn’t wake up until halfway into Friday; I barely knew where I was and, allegedly, gave the nurses at the clinic a bit of a fight as I tried to climb out of bed in my medication-induced stupor. It was Bianca who got me to calm down, her firm grip on my shoulders and gentle gaze giving me enough clarity to accept laying back down and allowing the nurses to continue switching over my bandages.
As always, Bianca is my rock, a stable foundation in my otherwise tumultuous life. She was there to comfort me when I received my second strike. She was there to listen to me vent after Charles saddled me with yet another skinnie. And she was there as I lay injured and helpless in a clinic bed. Martha, Bianca’s sister, watched the kids, leaving my wife to keep me company as I healed up, though she did run home to check on them when we had that freak power outage on Friday night. By the time I woke up the next day, the lights were back on and she was by my side again.
I wasn’t discharged from the clinic until late last night. The kids were ecstatic to see me, even though I had only been away for a couple days. Bianca had to ask them to be gentle with the hugs, considering my still fresh bandages and irritable wounds. Angela started crying when she saw my wrappings, asking what had happened through her sobs. I told her I got into a little scrape at work, nothing to be worried about, and that I’d be right as rain before she knew it. Russell, the little smart aleck, asked if I was turning into a mummy. I told him that he’d be joining me in the pyramids if he kept up with those wisecracks.
It was late, though, and past their bedtime, so after we said goodnight to Martha and sent her on her way we shooed the kids up to bed. I wasn’t far behind them, making my way upstairs with some difficulty and onto my mattress in a stinging thud. I’m not one to usually sleep for more than about seven hours, but these injuries have been sapping the life out of me. At least they’re healing quickly, based on what the doctor said.
Hoping to feel the effects of the painkillers soon, I take a seat on Bianca’s vanity stool and slowly unwrap the bandages encircling my left arm. The dried, sticky discharge painfully pulls at the loosened scales surrounding my sutures; I wince as the last layer comes up and fresh air scrapes against the angry gashes. There are nearly a dozen craters and valleys across both my arms, all excavated by the claws of a now dead baryonyx. I dab at the sparse rivulets of blood that escape from the irritated flesh before wrapping fresh dressing around the appendage.
Several minutes later, I finish with the other arm, having performed a similar ceremony to the first. Glancing up at the mirror, I rotate myself a bit to examine the reflection of my shoulder. Just as I consider how best to tackle the project of changing those bandages, the sound of a familiar car pulling into the driveway interrupts me. A few moments later, several sets of various-sized footfalls enter the home, the voices of Russell and Angela on full energetic display. A third voice bids them calm as it ascends the stairs.
“Oh! You’re up." Bianca smiles at me as she steps past the bedroom threshold. “Did you sleep well?”
I shrug, feeling the bite of my back injury in doing so. “Well as I could. Sorry I wasn’t up for church this morning.”
She moves forward, gently placing herself beside me and planting a kiss on my cheek. She exercises caution to not touch any bandaged part of my body, having witnessed exactly how much pain I’m in across the past few days. Thankfully, the painkillers are starting to work their magic. She speaks in a protective, motherly tone while watching my face in the mirror’s reflection. “Can I get you anything?”
“Actually, could you give me a hand with changing the dressing on my shoulder?”
She smiles, kisses me again and steps back to the door before calling down to the children. “Russell! Angela! Watch TV for a few minutes, I’ll be down to make lunch shortly!” They offer their acknowledgment of their mother’s words, though the sound of the television indicates that they’re way ahead of her on that particular command. She closes the door and moves toward our closet. “Let me change out of my church clothes, then I’ll help.”
The dress draped over Bianca’s body hugs her curves in a subtle and tasteful manner, but I still find myself staring as she begins disrobing. Noticing my hungry gaze, she offers a coy smile as the silk covering loosens and falls away, exposing her undergarments to me. However, her words take on a matter-of-fact tone. “Do you wanna tell me about what happened?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“With your arms and back. With that fella that attacked you and did this to you.” Her smile is replaced with a notable frown as she collects more casual Sunday afternoon attire from a hangar.
“You’ve already got the story. Disgruntled asshole in a pool hall jumped me and Marty with a couple of his goons. We handled ‘em, but the baryonyx got a few good hits on me, plus one real dirty one.” I jab a thumb at the bandages adorning my back.
“Right, and why did this baryonyx and his cronies attack you outta nowhere?”
I click my tongue. I know it’s a woman thing to ask questions they already know the answer to, but it’s still frustrating, especially given my current pain levels. “Like I told you, they were trying to rob us. It was the end of the day, we had a stack of dues in the car, and they thought they’d pull one over on us with a sneak attack and take that money for themselves.”
Now dressed, Bianca moves across the bedroom to my back. She gestures for me to turn toward the mirror, which I do. “I don’t know that I buy that, Pierce.”
My reflection’s eyebrow arches at her. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Don’t be stupid, of course not. But I don’t buy that reason.” She begins undoing the bandage on my shoulder, the movement causing me to wince despite her gentle touch. My reflection stares at her in befuddlement; when she notices, she shakes her head. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Considering you’ve completely fuckin’ lost me, yeah, I could use a little help.”
Her lips purse at the utterance of foul language, but she shrugs and continues pulling the tape from my back. “You just got done telling me about Charles threatening your life, and out of nowhere some nobodies try to kill you. That timing doesn’t strike you as odd?”
I shake my head. “Charles gave me a second strike. Why would he try to have me killed if I haven’t gotten a third one yet?”
“Maybe you did get a third strike. Maybe his way of telling you was this attempt on your life.”
My snout scrunches. “In that case, why wouldn’t he have just had me done in at the clinic? The staff are friends of the Herdsters, they’d probably smother me with a pillow for a hundred bucks.”
Bianca huffs as she meets my reflection’s eyes. “Look, I’m just saying this is an awfully big coincidence. We already know Charles doesn’t like you. Why do you think it’s impossible that he’d have a hand in this?”
“I never said it was impossible. I just don’t know for certain that it was him and not just some dipshit lowlife trying to score some easy dough.” I sneer. “Last time Murphy tries to pull that on anyone.”
Bianca’s expression softens. She knows my meaning, so her next question surprises me slightly. “How, exactly, did you get out of this fight in one piece?”
I try to smile, though the last throngs of bandage peeling away from my scabbed wounds causes it to falter. “You shoulda seen the other guy.”
She returns the smile, but presses the question. “I’m serious. With how bad of shape you’re in, and the fact that Marty got knocked clean out… how did you pull through this? How did you get yourself to the clinic? They said you were out cold by the time you arrived, and I don’t think two unconscious dinosaurs can drive a car.”
My hands fold in my lap as I consider. I’ve got no reason to keep anything from her… so why didn’t I mention him before? I mean, in regards to what happened. Lord knows I vented relentlessly to her when the skinnie was assigned to me by Charles. But now—
A sharp jolt of pain fires through my shoulder as Bianca applies ointment to the lacerations. I hiss through my teeth, earning a slightly sympathetic look from my darling wife but no uttered apology. Instead, she waits for my response, rubbing the chemicals across my scales and dabbing at the residue with a handful of cotton balls.
Fearing the further torture she might inflict if I keep my silence any longer, I answer her. “It was about the last thing I expected, but Samuel stood up to Murphy. Didn’t do much besides piss him off, but it gave me a chance to get the upper hand. We got Marty to the car before things got dark for me, and he drove us to the clinic.”
Her hands stop and she stares at my reflection in bewilderment. “Samuel? That human that Charles assigned to you?”
I nod. “The very same.”
Her eyebrows flit. “You certain he wasn’t trying to hit you and missed?” My only response is to look at her with contempt. “Come on, Pierce. Why would the human who you held at gunpoint suddenly help you? He probably screwed up and watched his partners die in that pool hall. Figured he had to stay close to you and Marty to survive after a bungled job.”
My snout scrunches again. “If that’s the case, why wouldn’t he have driven Marty and I off a pier? We were both so injured that we wouldn’t have raised any fuss at being put out of our misery.”
Another sharp pain in my shoulder indicates Bianca is being a little less gentle than she otherwise might be to emphasize her point. “Look—All I’m telling you is that you’re too trusting of people. And I don’t think you should trust that human. There’s a very real chance he’s already in Charles’s pocket and is just waiting for the right opportunity to turn over on you.”
I mull it over as she begins applying fresh bandages to my back. “I’m not so sure, Bianca. Yeah, I lost a good amount of blood, but I saw what I saw. Samuel wasn’t trying to attack me, he distracted Murphy. In fact, after Murphy was taken out, Samuel picked up my gun. I thought for a second that he was gonna do me in right then and there… but instead, he handed it to me and asked me to help get Marty out to the car.”
Bianca seems to consider my words before shaking her head with a sigh. “Well, if you want my opinion, if the skinnie isn’t in Charles’s pocket, he should be in yours.” For some reason, hearing Bianca say the word “skinnie” makes me wince. She doesn’t notice. “I know you’ve got no love for their kind. Neither do I. But it’d be better to have a dog on a leash than for it to be running rampant and biting at your ankles.”
All I manage is an acknowledging hum. She works in silence for the next minute or so, letting her advice linger in the air as she finishes wrapping the bandages around my shoulder. Placing her gentle hands on my arms, she smiles. “All done. I’ll go get started on lunch.”
I rotate my head toward her, the pain in my back reduced to a dull throbbing between the medication and redressing. “Thank you, Bianca. I’ll think about what you said.”
She leans down and kisses me. “I know you’ll do the right thing. I didn’t marry a pushover, after all.” Her tail offers a departing swish as she moves through the door and out of sight, her voice calling to the children on her way downstairs.
I turn back to the mirror, staring at the mangled mess of dark blue scales that stares back at me. If Bianca is right, and Samuel is in Charles’s pocket… I’m probably fucked. Any maneuver I try to plan would be fed right back to that triceratops bastard, and I can’t just dump the human because that’ll be my death sentence.
Is that why Charles was so keen on getting Samuel tied up with me? I mean, it certainly seemed like the two had never met before everything went down on Wednesday, but maybe it was some sort of act to throw me off. And Charles knows my relationship with skinnies, that I’d be distrustful of Samuel, and I was.
I… was. After Murphy’s pool hall, I’m not so sure anymore. If Samuel was in Charles’s pocket, there’d have been no reason for him to save my ass from Murphy. He coulda just left me to bleed out in that damned place. Instead, he got Marty and I to the clinic.
He saved my life.
My eye twitches as conflict pours into my conscience. I suddenly recall the dream I had this morning. What was done to me. What I had to do. What it cost me, and how it changed the man I am today.
Am I really going to forget all of that in favor of one lousy human doing one noble thing for me…?
I shake my head. Bianca’s right. It’d be better to have the skinnie in my pocket rather than let him loose. And if worse comes to worse and he’s already Charles’s property… guess I’m fucked anyway.
—
The ceaselessly sweltering sunbeams bounce from glass to concrete, leaving a shimmering layer of heat on the surface of the road. Under advisement of my doctor and personal consultant, I’ve chosen to not operate heavy machinery on this balmy, beautiful Monday morning. Of course, what I mean by that is, Bianca demanded that I not drive while under the influence of my painkillers, so now Marty had to cart his sleep-deprived ass all the way out to the suburbs to pick me up. I asked my darling wife to give me a lift into work, but I guess the life of a housewife with two kids on the tail end of their summer break is far too busy to accommodate such a preposterous request.
Another yawn escapes Marty as he keeps his eyes forward, his ‘57 Chevrolet Bel Air providing a comfortable transport to the office. I still prefer my DeVille, but beggars can’t be choosers. He notices the stale air and fills it. “I’m glad to see you’re mending up pretty well. You sure you’re ready for a full workload?”
I shrug. “I’ll be fine. Spent enough time in bed over the past several days, I’m about ready to actually stretch my legs.” He nods and the uncomfortable silence returns. This time I try to repel it. “Were you back to work on Friday?”
He takes another drag of his lit cigarette, pushing the thin trail of smoke from his lips and out the cracked driver-side window. “Oh, yeah. ‘Sides the lump on my noggin, doc said I was right as rain so I didn’t need to take a day off.”
“Gotcha. Anything interesting happen?”
Marty opens his mouth to reply, but hesitates. After a moment he shakes his head. “Not really, no. Bureaucratic stuff, a vote at the office that we ran security for.”
“Mm. And Samuel, how—“
“Pierce, you really oughta—wait. Did you call him by his name?” The indignance that started to spark in his voice was instantly quashed by his realization.
“I did. That is his name, ain’t it?”
Marty’s eyes dart over to me before refocusing on the road. “You… surprised me is all. I was expecting you to call him—well, it don’t matter. I’m still gonna make my point. You really oughta give Sam a chance, Pierce. He’s a good guy. He helped us at—“
“I know. I was there.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t. Down for the count and all. And I overheard him talkin’ to Charles at—“
I shift forward. “What did he say to Charles?”
Another glance, this time with concern. “Whaddya mean? He told Charles what went down at the pool hall.”
“Did he—“ I catch myself before I blurt out more. I trust Marty, but I also don’t know that I want to divulge all of my distrust of Charles right here and now. Clearing my throat, I rearrange my thoughts. “After you got knocked out, I took care of the bartender, but Murphy got the drop on me. Did a number on my back. He was about to deliver the coup de grâce to yours truly when Samuel popped outta nowhere and skewered the son of a bitch in the leg. Gave me the chance to send him to bed. Is that what Samuel told Charles?”
Marty nods. “Long and the short of it, yeah. I wasn’t in the room with them so I didn’t catch everything, but… I do know that Sam was real torn up about what he did. He ain’t never killed anyone before.”
I blink. “And he still hasn’t. I’m the one that finished Murphy off.”
“You know what I mean, Pierce. He’s upset because he helped kill a guy. I spoke to him afterward, tried to console him and tell him he did the right thing, but even the next day he was pretty shaken. He seemed to calm down after a bit, but it was a rough thing that happened to him.”
An involuntary scoff escapes my lips. “Rough for him? What about us?”
Marty’s eyes flash in my direction. “This is exactly what I’m talkin’ about, Pierce. You keep treatin’ Sam like he’s less than us. Yeah, he might not have gotten clobbered or slashed up like you or me, but he had to endure a hell of a lot more than most guys at their first day on the job.” I sigh, but before I can respond he continues. “My memory’s still hazy about how that fight went down, but I remember clear as a bell what I said to you outside the jewelers, about how you were treating Sam that day. It’s a goddamn miracle that he didn’t run outta that pool hall and leave both of us to die. That’s the kind of man Samuel is, Pierce. His species don’t matter, he is a good man and you’d better start treatin’ him like one.”
Spent of breath and fury, Marty’s fingers tighten on the wheel as the air stales again. After a moment, I reply. “May I speak now?” Marty glances at me warily before nodding. “I was going to say that I agree with you. I thought a lot about things while I wasn’t sleeping off these injuries, and… you’re right. Samuel does appear to be a good person.” Though I am genuinely coming around, I still find it difficult to form non-scathing words when referring to a… human.
Though Marty’s tone has softened, it still carries an edge. “Not ‘appears to be’, he is. He is a good person.”
“Yes. He is a good person. And I’m coming around to him. But I’m sure you understand why I am still wary of his kind, so I’ll have to ask for your patience as I reconcile these feelings during my interactions with him. Is that acceptable to you?”
Another wary sideways glance. “So… you’re gonna be nicer to him, yeah?”
“I will try.”
“Pierce…”
“Fine. Yes. I will be nicer to him.”
This finally earns a smile from my partner. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear. Ya know, when you get to know Sam, he’s actually a pretty witty fella.“
The air between us finally softens as Marty shares a little about what he and Samuel discussed on Friday. As we roll into the parking garage and exit the car, I make sure to thank him for having gone out of his way to pick me up. He lives clear on the other side of town making it a long hike, but he waves it off before grinning and saying I can pay him back by covering lunch today. That sounds like a fair trade to me.
As I pull open the employee entrance, the familiar shape of a human with shaggy brown hair poking out from beneath a flat cap comes into view. He holds two cups of coffee, one in each hand, and is just about to bring one to his lips as he spots us and flinches, nearly spilling the beverage.
“O-oh! Pierce, you’re b-back! I, uhh…” He glances at the two cups, clearly having intended to give one to Marty and keep the other for himself. “I d-didn’t drink any of it yet. I mean, I was about to, but I didn’t, so you can have this one!”
I wave a palm. “Don’t worry about it, Samuel. I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”
Marty, on the other hand, quickly accepts the proffered cup from our human companion and quaffs the hot beverage in two gulps. “Whoo, that hits the spot. Thanks, Sam!”
Samuel scratches the back of his neck. “Don’t mention it.” He turns my way, diverting his eyes before they linger on me for too long. “Uh… How are you feeling, Pierce?”
I shrug and do my best to put on a smile. “Like I got slashed to ribbons by claws and teeth. But I’m still standing, thanks to you.” He stares up at me with his mouth agape as though he never expected me to utter such words. Thinking quick, I wink and give him a friendly nudge on the arm with my fist. “Ya did good, kid—“
He yelps and nearly bowls over backward, spilling coffee all over his pants as he barely keeps his feet beneath him. The force of my gentle tap almost send him sprawling. Marty spins in my direction and balks at me. “Pierce, what the hell, man?”
“Aw, geez. Sorry! I didn’t—sorry!” I whip out my handkerchief and bend down to try and clean up the mess but Samuel recoils away from me. I sigh. “I really didn’t mean to shove ya that hard. I was… ugh, look, I’m sorry.”
The human eyes me warily before turning to Marty. Though the diplodocus beside us doesn’t look thrilled at my fumbled attempt to be casual, he relents with a nod. Samuel accepts the handkerchief. “It’s alright. You dinosaurs are pretty damn strong, but I also wasn’t expecting it. No big deal.”
I shake my head. “No, it is a big deal. I was shitty to you last week and now I nearly knocked you on your ass. I’m… gonna try to do better.” Marty’s eyebrow raises at me. I clear my throat. “I’m gonna do better. You’re a part of the team, right? I should treat you like that, especially after what you did for me and Marty.”
Wiping as much coffee away from his pants as he can, Samuel glances up at me suspiciously. After a moment, a small smile tugs at his lips. “I appreciate that, Pierce. Thank you.”
Before I can speak up again, Marty interjects. “Hey, fantastic! We’re all friends now! So, Sam! How’d that date of yours go?” My brow furrows and Samuel’s fleshy cheeks redden. “I told you I was gonna get the scoop from you come Monday. You owe me some juicy details, pal!”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
As Samuel lets out a nervous chuckle, all I can do is shake my head. As much as I’d like to treat the human a little better, I could not be less interested in his love life. A quick idea allows me retreat. “Let me get you a fresh cup of coffee.”
Traversing the corridor of the ground floor level, I pass by several other Herdsters beginning their daily hustle and bustle. The coffee maker in one of the employee lounges is already seeing extensive use, with Cheryl from accounting loading up fresh filters with ground beans and refilling the water basins the moment they’re consumed. I don’t regret not being a coffee drinker as I bear witness to this coordinated chaos in search of wakefulness.
After chatting with some of the desk jockeys in line as we await a fresh pot to fill our grasped foam cups, I head back toward Marty and Samuel with his replenished coffee. I’ll have to do my best to not spill this one all over him, too. Literally the first thing I do is nearly knock him to the ground and make him dump his morning joe all over himself. What a way to win a friend…
I slow my pace, bringing my free hand to the bottom of my chin in contemplation. What, exactly, should I do with him? I definitely agree with Bianca that it’d be better to have Samuel on my side than on Charles’s, especially given the level of honor he displayed at the pool hall. He might not be strong or smart, but loyalty and integrity are fine traits in a man. I just have to hope that he’s not terribly loyal to our boss yet.
I glance to the side of the vacant hallway, catching sight of the door to Charles’s makeshift office. He doesn’t have another more proper residence in the building, having vacated the comfortable and airy upper level vista in lieu of this windowless dungeon of a conference room. Within, several large filing cabinets contain paperwork pertaining to his station. He is a man of closely guarded secrets, only divulging to you what he deems necessary to divulge.
Though the door is closed, he is assuredly inside his office by now. If he wasn’t, the door would be both closed and locked. I step a little further down the hall, noticing the ajar portal leading to the neighboring conference room. This one, though seldom used, has not been converted into an isolated dominion for a methodical and calculating triceratops. I cautiously step toward it, pushing the door open to view its contents.
Within is a large wooden table covered by a thin film of dust. A dozen or so chairs rest around it, musty and purposeless. In the far corner, a collection of filing cabinets yearn to cry out their metallic shriek, but nobody accesses their contents, if they have any to begin with. It’s no wonder most folks don’t like using this space; its lifeless walls and artificial light lend it a sense of dread and isolation. I crane my head, looking past the table toward the closer corner of the room. My eyes fall upon a small vent on the wall, near the floor and about a foot and a half wide.
I wonder—
“What’s up, Pierce? You got that coffee for Sam?” The voice causes me to start, even though I know its source. I step out of the conference room and turn to face Marty and Samuel. My diplodocus partner’s long neck stretches as he peers past me into the vacant space. “What’s goin’ on in there? Nobody ever uses that room.”
I offer an innocent smile. “Nothin’. Thought I saw a mouse. Come on, let’s get our work order for today.” I hand Samuel the still steaming cup which he graciously accepts and we make our way into Charles’s next door quarters.
The morning pleasantries are as hollow as usual. Charles asks me how I’m mending, I tell him that I’m fine. He exchanges the bare minimum of small talk with Samuel and Marty before handing us a list of locations to visit. It’s the end of the month, meaning most of our clients have paid up. Now comes the “round up” where we visit those who have asked for more time or been delinquent on their payments. It can be a little frustrating sometimes when excuses turn to belligerence, but a cursory glance at the list doesn’t lead me to think that any of these shops will put up too much of a fuss today.
It’s by design. Charles wants to put on the front that he cares for Marty and I’s well-being. Doesn’t want to give us too much of a troublesome workload on our return to duty.
Duplicitous prick.
Well, I’ll look on the bright side. This’ll mean more opportunity to get to know Samuel and get on his good side. An easy day will do us all some good, I’ll make sure of it.
And just as I had anticipated, the day soars by in a breeze. Our most problematic client of the morning is one particularly cantankerous quetzacoatlus whose aged, sharpened beak snaps in our direction with each of her titters and complaints. I’m not worried about the old broad legitimately attacking us, but her temper is flared to the point where a finger might get lost if we tried to put hands on her. Marty does his best to defuse her frustration as he politely reminds her that it’s our job to collect union dues, and our stop here is because of her delinquency in payment. He assures her that we’ll get out of her hair and she’ll be in good standing with the Herdsters again if she settles up her debt. With a final weary sigh and a visible sink of her wings, the shopkeep scoops a parcel of bills tucked far into the back of the register’s till and forks it over.
Stepping out of the store and back under the baking sun, Samuel’s eyes squint. Whether due to the bright light or being deep in thought, I can’t say. He’s been shadowing us during our stops, observing our interactions and only piping up when called upon. During one of our first stops, a small drugstore, he was offered a complimentary root beer by the soda jerk on duty. He graciously accepted, enjoying the cold treat on this scorching day. If an interaction like this occurred last week I probably would have punched him in the back of the head and made him spew soda everywhere. Guess I’m turning over a new leaf.
Marty breaks Samuel out of his sun-soaked trance. “Phew! This summer’s never gonna end, huh? What say we grab some lunch?”
I shrug before glancing at the human in our party. He still seems a bit far-off in thought, but nods his acknowledgment. I gesture at him. “You’re the non-herbivore here. Where do you wanna eat?”
This catches his full attention as he stumbles over his words. “Uhh… oh! I, um—I didn’t think about it.” His eyes dart between Marty and I. “S-somewhere that can accommodate us all, I guess?”
Marty grins. “That would be nice! Last time I tried to eat a piece of bacon I couldn’t stop shitting for three days.”
Samuel thinks for a moment. “Hmm… well, there’s a little place not too far from here that serves a kick-ass baked potato. I get ‘em fully loaded, but they’ve got plenty of herbivore-friendly toppings, too.”
I glance at Marty who offers an approving nod. I smile down at Samuel. “Sounds good. Point us in the right direction.”
We pile into the Bel Air and head westbound before arriving at the advertised restaurant. From the outside, the joint is nothing to write home about. A shoddy unlit sign and a dingy door would lead you to cruise right past a place like this without a second thought. However, upon pushing through its entrance, I’m met with the heavenly scent of roasting spuds alongside a myriad of other southern-style vegetables. The fella behind the counter, ostensibly pulling double duty as server and chef, offers a warm welcome to the two ill-sized dinosaurs that hunch over in the small establishment alongside their human companion.
Samuel looks up at our crouched posture in embarrassment. “S-sorry, fellas. I didn’t really think about the low ceiling…”
I wave a hand. “So long as their chairs won’t collapse under me, I don’t mind.”
We each peruse the menu. As he stated he would, Samuel orders a baked potato fully loaded with bacon, cheese and sour cream. Marty goes for a vegetarian option called an “Especial” that’s topped with pico de gallo and guacamole. I go with the classic, sans meat, and toss a side of collard greens onto my order. As promised, I pay for lunch.
We crowd around a table, pretty much having the whole restaurant to ourselves. It’s a small place, clearly designed for take-out or street eating more than dine-in, but the air conditioner does the Lord’s work in this continued heat wave. We make small talk until our meal arrives; it’s as succulent as it smells, delivering a dose of comfort food bliss. Marty and I nod our approval to Samuel as we chew our potatoes and veggies, and the small talk steps aside in favor of contented silence.
As I dab the last remnants of potato from my snout, Marty slides out of his chair. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go pinch a loaf.”
Samuel’s eyes widen. “Oh, no. There wasn’t bacon in your potato, was there?”
Marty chuckles. “Nah, I’m good! I just usually go around lunch break. Be back in a few.” His neck winds around near the ceiling of the small restaurant, scoping out a small alcove near the back that likely houses a restroom. Samuel chews the last bite of his food as Marty disappears. Truthfully, I was expecting this to happen around now. Hoping for it. I wanted a little alone time with Samuel.
I clear my throat, catching his attention. “So. I trust today is going a little better for you than last week?”
He smiles nervously. “Y-yeah. Though the day ain’t over yet. There any chance we’re gonna get jumped by ninjas on our next stop?”
A puff of air escapes my nostrils as a smile tugs at my lips. “No, I don’t think so.” I lean a bit closer. “Say, I wanted to ask you. What are your thoughts on Charles?”
His eyebrow raises and he leans away from me slightly. “Is this a test?”
I shake my head, realizing I must look a bit intimidating as I scrutinize his expression. I do my best to soften my own. “Not at all. It’s an honest question.”
He thinks for a moment before shrugging. “I guess I don’t have a strong opinion about him. He offered me a job, and he said some kind things to me at the clinic when… well, when I brought you and Marty in. But aside from that, he seems to be a typical boss. Friendly enough, but more interested in the work gettin’ done than being your friend.”
“And what are your thoughts on me?”
Some of the color drains from his face. I do my best to look non-threatening, though I doubt it’s much good. He stumbles over his words. “Y-you’re—I mean, I don’t have—that is—”
“Samuel. It’s alright. I’m not interrogating you. I’m… trying to get to know you a bit better. I’d prefer for us to be friends.” The last word nearly catches in my throat, but I force it out as naturally as I can.
He gulps before turning his eyes downward. “S-sorry. I’m still sorta wrapping my head around all this.”
“Listen. I’m…” My teeth clamp into my tongue to focus its efforts. I don’t enjoy having to do this, but it must be done. I lower my voice. “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen close. Regarding what I did in that alley, beating you and holding a gun to you… I was doing my job, but I was also pretty upset and took it out on you. Since then, you’ve proved that you’re a stand-up guy. So…” I wince before stepping off the precipice. “I apologize.”
Samuel stares into space as though a ghost hovers above my shoulder. I know there’s nobody behind me, so I merely wait for him to process everything. After a moment, his eyes refocus. “Th-thank you, Pierce. I don’t know what else to say.”
I do my best to grin pleasantly. “Great. Let’s put all of that behind us. Listen, I need your help with a special job. You up for it?”
His eyebrow arches. “Wh-what kind of special job?”
“It’d be something after our shift, back at the Herdsters building. Once we’re done with our rounds, we’ll head back and I’ll tell you more about it, okay?”
“This isn’t a trick or somethin’, is it?”
My grin falters. “Samuel. Aren’t we tryin’ to be friends now? Why would I trick you? I legitimately need your help, and I think you’ll find it in your best interest to—”
“Heya, fellas! Phew—that bathroom was a tight fit. Glad I was able to get my mitts under the faucet to wash my hands!” Marty playfully tousles the hat on Samuel’s head, causing the human to grimace and recoil away, albeit with a grin of his own. “What were you guys gabbin’ about?”
I glance at Samuel who still looks apprehensive. “Not much. I was tellin’ Samuel that Cheryl in accounting had some paperwork that still needed to be filled out. I forgot to bring it up before we left, so we’ll have to swing by later and get it taken care of.”
Marty grins at Samuel. “Hey, we could just swing by now. It’d be no trouble—”
I interrupt. “No, let’s get the rest of the route banged out and head back afterward. No reason to hike all the way now and waste more gas.”
He ponders this for a moment before shrugging. “Don’t matter to me either way. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”
Samuel does not protest against my improvisation.
The rest of the day goes by even smoother than what came before. Aside from the odd argument or sass, each one of our stops end with successful retrieval of the establishment’s owed payment. By the end of it all, I start to think that maybe this human is a good luck charm. His polite, innocent nature even seems to imbalance a few of the more belligerent visits, leading them to acquiesce a bit quicker than usual.
With our last stop handled and a dashboard compartment stuffed full of envelopes, we make our way back toward headquarters. As we travel, I mull over how I want to approach this, and how best I might get hold of what I need. It’s a hell of a gamble, but if Samuel is willing to play ball, I might find some dirt on Charles that’ll let me get the upper hand on him.
As we find our usual spot in the employee lot and Marty throws the parking brake, he angles himself to address both Samuel and I. “Home, sweet home. You know which paperwork it was that Sam needed to get done?”
I nod. “Cheryl should still be in, I’ll get it from her and have Samuel fill it out in one of the conference rooms.” Marty begins to open his door but I interrupt him. “I can take care of it, you don’t need to come in.”
He glances back at me. “What, you want me to sit out here in Tyranno-Satan’s asshole? That potato at lunch was good, but I don’t intend to bake myself in this oven.”
“Of course not. But I was hoping you might be willin’ to grab us a few cold sodas, and maybe stop by Zeke’s bar. I wanted to pick up some betting slips for the game this week, but couldn’t on account of bein’ out of commission all weekend. And I would have gone after work, but…” I gesture toward Marty’s car.
His lips purse as he considers. “I suppose it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Withdrawing my wallet, I hand him a twenty. “This should be enough for the sodas and my slips. Get yourself a few, too.”
In response to the proffered money, his eyes light up. “Well, shit. Now it ain’t a problem at all! Alright, I’ll be back in a half hour or so.”
I clap his shoulder. “Thanks, Marty. See you soon.” After Samuel and I climb out of the car, it pulls out of its spot and turns toward the road, disappearing from sight.
The human looks up at me apprehensively. “You still ain’t told me what this is all about…”
“In a minute. I need to run upstairs and talk to Cheryl. Wait for me in the empty conference room next to Charles’s office, if you’d be so kind.”
He walks with me into the building and steps into the disused room as I head upstairs. Cheryl is at her desk, as expected; a homely parasaurolophus with pudgy cheeks and a voice like that black and white cartoon character Snooty Boop. She bats her big eyelashes at me as I approach, once again choosing to conveniently forget that I’m a happily married man. Despite being faithful, I’m not above using an advantage like this, earning a giddy giggle with my compliment of her bangs. She fishes out blank copies of the paperwork I lie about Samuel still needing to fill out, and instantly agrees when I ask her not to share this with anyone else. “If someone asks, I got you the forms and everything’s squared away. Can you do that for me, doll?” Cheryl practically melts at my words, giving me a smile and a wink as I depart.
With the sheets firmly in hand, I make my way back downstairs. As I pass the door that leads to Charles’s office, I gently test the knob. Locked. I give a soft rap with my knuckles. No answer. I assumed he was already at Santiago’s, but now I know for certain.
Within the barren conference room next to Charles’s office, Samuel rocks himself in one of the weary chairs. It creaks and groans in discontent with each of his movements. His eyes meet mine as I step through the portal, nudging the door with my tail to close it behind me. “So what is this all about, Pierce? Why all the cloak and dagger?”
I glance over my shoulder cautiously, despite having just closed the door. No one followed me in. I take a seat across from the human, withdrawing a pen from my jacket pocket and sliding it and the paperwork to him face-down. My hands fold in front of me atop the conference room table, and I take a deep breath. “I want to ask you to do something a little… dishonest.”
He blinks. “Dishonest?”
“It is my suspicion that Charles is our enemy. I believe that he is actively working to have me eliminated, and I believe his intention is to use you to achieve that goal, likely sacrificing you in the process.” As expected, he freezes, staring at me like a deer caught in headlamps. I knew my words would shock him, but the direction in which his mind goes is vitally important.
I watch him carefully. Very carefully. Watching for any sign of duplicity or alternate allegiance. A twitching eye, a throbbing vein, an unusual bead of sweat. Anything that might indicate he serves another master, that my words just threw a wrench into a plan already in motion via opposing forces.
I see no signs of inevitable betrayal, only a stunned, confused human. I try to assuage his discomfort. “If I am wrong, and everything’s on the up and up, then there’ll be no harm in what I ask you to do. But if something is amiss, as I expect it to be, we could be saving our lives and uncovering a lot of corruption in the process.” I frown. “This is obviously a tremendous request for me to make, but I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”
Samuel mirrors my frown. “What about Marty? Why not—”
“Marty is like a brother to me, but he’s also got a soft heart. He’d do everything in his power to avoid conflict, up to and including going to Charles directly. We just can’t afford to go that route.”
His nose scrunches and he crosses his arms, staring at the table between us. After a moment, his eyes meet mine again. “Pierce… I really don’t mean any disrespect with this, but why would I trust you? I mean, I appreciate your apology back in the restaurant and it’s certainly a welcome change of pace to get treated decently, but the fact remains—I just don’t know you that well. I thought you were gonna kill me less than a week ago, and now you’re asking me for favors that… well, I don’t even know what you want me to do yet, but I’m guessing it’s risky based on all this deception and closed-door conversing we’re doing.”
A slow tendril of air passes out of my nostrils. Now it’s my turn to cross my arms, leaning back as I consider how best to talk through this. He has a point—I did want to kill him. I was very close to doing it, too. He got lucky. However, given what transpired on Thursday, perhaps it was a good thing that his luck held out.
My tongue clicks against my teeth. We’ve already come this far. May as well go a little further, for the sake of trust.
“A little over six months ago, my younger brother Francisco was killed. And I know for a fact that it was Charles who ordered the hit.” The phantasm of Franky’s smile intrudes on my mind’s eye and I hear his infectious laugh somewhere off in the distance. I remain steadfast, not letting my emotions get the better of me. “My brother was a flawed man. He had demons with which he was wrestling, and I was helping him fight them off. But Charles decided that Franky ran out of time. He ordered a Herdster enforcer to murder my brother.”
Samuel shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus, Pierce. That’s awful. But—if Charles did this, why are you still workin’ for him?”
A sigh escapes my lips. “I said that I know Charles ordered the hit, but in reality I don’t have concrete proof. Orders like this almost never get carried out without getting signed off on by a dozen different high-ranking fellas, so it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. It was planned and accounted for. But I know in my heart that this wouldn’t have happened without Charles’s involvement. He hated my brother and wanted him gone, like he wants me gone now.”
More gears turn inside Samuel’s head. “Why does Charles want you gone?”
My arms find themselves crossed again. “I just got a second strike for killing Eggsy. I… got emotional. I shouldn’t have done what I did, I shoulda brought him in, but I made a call and it was the wrong call. My guess is either I’ve earned a third strike somehow that I don’t know about, or Charles decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
Samuel turns a shade paler at the mention of Eggsy, but presses on. “Y-you said that was a second strike? What was your first?”
“I killed the son of a bitch that killed my brother.”
Practically all color has faded from his visage now. “Fucking hell. How many people have you killed, Pierce?”
“That’s not something for us to get into right now. What matters now is that I need your help, because if my life’s on the line, so is yours.” Samuel’s eyes widen in my direction, and I quickly catch my faux pas. “That wasn’t a threat. I’m saying that Charles uses pawns, and you’re the lowest ranking one he’s got. He will happily sacrifice you if it means finding a checkmate.”
The human goes back into thought, his leg bouncing restlessly under the table. I’m starting to get a little impatient, considering this plan hinges on happening before Marty gets back, but I have to let Samuel make up his mind. I can’t force him into this, he has to join willingly. After a moment, he glances up at me again. “If you did what you said, k-killed a Herdster enforcer, why did they let you go with just a strike? Wouldn’t that be… I dunno, something they’d punish harder for?”
I shrug. “Hell if I know. Honestly, I was prepared to face the consequences and catch a bullet in the back of the head for what I did. Maybe I got some friend upstairs I don’t know about. O’course, if that were the case, I don’t think I’d be in this situation right now.” Franky’s smile finds its way into my memory again. “I loved my brother dearly, and I avenged him. Charles or whoever else upstairs should have known that I wouldn’t let something like that go. I did what I did, and I do not regret it in the slightest.”
My gaze steels itself upon the human seated across from me. “That’s who I am, Samuel. You might believe me to be a monster or a remorseless killer, but the truth is I am a fiercely loyal and honorable man. I will protect what is dear to me with every fiber of my being. My wife, my children, my family and my friends. They mean more to me than my own life.” I straighten my back. “If you’ll help me with this, if you’ll help me get to the bottom of whatever Charles has been scheming and help figure out a way for us to beat him at his own game, I will call you a friend.”
Samuel holds my gaze with a surprising amount of strength. Where before I witnessed a quivering, helpless lump of skin, I now see someone with acuity and resolve. After a moment, his eyes lower again and his brow furrows. I give him some time to think it over, though I do hope he makes a decision soo—
“I’ll do it.”
My eyes widen before I offer a respectful nod. “Thank you, Samuel. You’ve made the right choice.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Erm… What, exactly, did you have in mind for this ‘dishonest’ thing?”
In response, I rise from my seat and step over to the corner of the room, bending down until my knees touch my chest. A quick examination answers my question before I ask it. Herdster labor at its finest, the maintenance fellas who last worked on this ventilation system didn’t even bother screwing the panel back on, instead just pushing it into place. I slide a claw between wall and metal, and with a small shunk the cover slides free.
I straighten up and turn back to Samuel who watches me with curiosity. “Charles’s office is right on the other side of this wall. He always locks his door and he has the only key. There aren’t any windows, so this is the only other way in.” I gesture at my body. “For… obvious reasons, I can’t fit through this space, but I’m pretty confident that you can.”
He tips his cap back a little with a quiet whistle. “Good thing I ain’t claustrophobic, I guess.”
I smile. “It’s not a lot of wall, anyway. Your head will probably be poking out the other side before your feet disappear here.” I lean down again, peering into the shaft. “I’m guessing the vent cover on the other side will be loose, just like this one. But you’ll need to make it quick, I don’t know how much time we have left.”
“What do you want me to do when I’m over there? Am I swiping something?”
I shake my head. “He’ll notice if anything goes missing. Take those forms and that pen with you, and see what you can find near his desk. He has a small leather notebook he keeps in the top drawer of his filing cabinet. It comes out whenever he has an important phone call to make or note to take, and I’ve never seen the inside of it. I’m willing to bet you could find some info in there.”
“And what, exactly—”
“Anything you can. Mention of me, mention of you or Marty, anything regarding Murphy’s pool hall…”
He blinks in surprise. “Wait, you think Charles had something to do with that fight?”
An impatient huff escapes me. “I don’t know. I have a suspicion, but that’s why I’m asking you to go, and we’re running out of time, so go.”
“O-okay!” The human snatches up the blank forms and the pen before approaching the vent. After glancing at me one more time, he drops to his stomach and starts shimmying through the tight space. As I expected, he’s able to squeeze in, though his cap falls off his head before he begins the journey. A flick his wrist sends the cap through the air and onto the table before he wiggles into the vent. About four and a half feet in, I hear his hands push the other vent cover, the scraping metal echoing around me. A moment later, his feet vanish.
I bend down to speak through the passage. “Alright. Find whatever you can and jot it down. I’ll be right outside keeping watch, but I’ll keep my tail through the door. If you hear my spikes knocking, get out of there.” I demonstrate the audio cue by bringing the tip of my tail beside me and tapping it against the wall. “And don’t forget to put that vent cover back on when you’re done! Charles isn’t stupid, he’ll notice if that thing is out of place.”
“Got it!” I hear the faint sound of Samuel shuffling around in the office, the metallic squeal of a filing cabinet drawer being pulled open giving a clue as to his first stop.
This might just work. I don’t know for certain that he’ll find anything, but at the very least he’s on my side.
I keep a hand on the doorknob behind me, remaining still and straining my ears. It’s after normal business hours, so most folks have gone home. Though I hear the odd voice or two coming from somewhere upstairs, it’s pretty quiet. My plan is to pretend I’m mid-exit of the conference room should anyone wander past, and to rap my tail spikes against the wall on its way through the door if it’s an emergency. Admittedly, I feel a little stupid holding a pose like this, but it’s the safest way to give Sam the time he needs if Marty turns the corner all of a sudden.
I gotta hand it to the human, he’s really surpassing my expectations. Of course, I didn’t tell him that the fella who killed my brother was a skinnie. I always had an inherent and well-placed distrust of their kind ever since I was a kid. My folks brought me up that way, taught me to stick to my lane and be cautious of those tricky skinbags. Sure, society was moving in a direction of “equality” and “rights”, but as far as I was concerned they’d always be a rung lower on the totem pole. It wasn’t until I started working for the Herdsters that I softened, even beginning to trust the few humans we had in our employ.
Even Demetri. That sallow-eyed, heartless fucker. Even he got me to warm up to him before he stabbed me in the back by killing Franky. “Just following orders,” my ass. I hope the excuse is doing him good in hell.
After I blew his brains all over the concrete, I promised myself I’d never trust another human, not for as long as I live. And I intend to keep that promise. Sam seems alright, for a skinnie, but I don’t care how many times he stabs a pissed off baryonyx in the leg with a broken pool cue, I’ll never trust the—
Voices. Two voices, approaching from the direction of the parking garage. One of them is Marty’s, and the other…
Oh, fuck.
I bang my spikes into the wall several times, praying to God that Samuel doesn’t have wax in his ears. As their shadows bend around the corner, I hastily pull my tail out of the doorway and begin the pantomime of having just exited the conference room, clicking the latch shut as two figures come into view.
“Evenin’, Charles. Figured you’d be over at Santiago’s by now.”
The gray triceratops comes to a halt ten feet away, offering me a disingenuous-feeling grin. “Good evening, Pierce. I was, but I realized I forgot something in my office. I needed to have a meeting tonight but… well, my mind’s just all over the place.” He taps the side of his head in a gesture of forgetfulness. I don’t buy it for a second. He doesn’t forget anything.
He holds the bundle of envelopes containing today’s dues in his hand. I guess he bumped into Marty in the parking garage and Marty handed over the money here instead of Santiago’s like we usually would. The convenient timing couldn’t be more inconvenient for me. The diplodocus steps forward, offering me a bottled soda and a small stack of betting slips. “Got what ya asked for. Is Sam’s paperwork squared away?”
Charles’s eyebrow lifts. “Paperwork?”
I stuff the slips into my pocket and grasp the soda, my fingers tightening on it nearly to the point of shattering the glass. “Yeah, I was told there was a form he forgot to fill out when he got hired, so we stopped by after our shift so he could get it squared away. He’s in the spare conference room doin’ it now.”
Purple orbs examine me for an uncomfortable moment. I’m an honorable man but I’m not above lying, and I’m pretty fuckin’ good at it. Charles might be a smart guy, but he ain’t cracking my shell. Finally, he gives a shallow shrug. “Well, thank you for getting it sorted out.” He steps toward his office, key in hand. “If you—”
“Did you want a soda, Charles? I’m not really in the mood for this one.” In my desperation, I fire out the quickest thing I can to distract him, something, anything to give Sam another few seconds.
He pauses, glancing back at Marty. “No, thank you. Martin already offered me his, and I’m also… not in the mood.”
His key slides into the lock. I grit my teeth, fearing the inevitable. Sam’s still gonna be in that office, practically with his dick in his hand, and we’re both gonna be fucked—
Just as Charles turns the knob, the door behind me swings open. Sam steps into the hall, two sheets of paper and a pen gripped in his hands. He extends them in my direction. “H-here you go, Pierce. All done.”
I do everything in my power to keep the vein in my neck from pulsing as I accept the forms. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll get ‘em up to accounting right away.” The human smiles at me nervously, scratching the back of his neck. I pray that it’s interpreted as his usual nervous behavior. Marty, for his part, wears a distracted, far-off smile as he sips his chilled, fizzy beverage.
Charles simply stares at us. With his form half-inserted into his office, his interrogating eyes move from me to Sam, trying to piece things together.
We have to leave, now. I just pray that Sam didn’t make a mess and got that vent cover put back in place like he was supposed to. I casually turn to Marty. “Let’s get going, bud. We’ll swing upstairs and—”
Charles’s icy words cut me off. He speaks while staring at the human beside me, a malevolent grin tugging at the sides of his lips.
”Samuel. Can I speak to you in my office, please?”