“Unbelievable.”
It must be the fifth time the word has tumbled past my gritted teeth, with the same phrase being repeated internally dozens of times more since I got in this morning. Of course, the target of my ire has been this little piss-stain of a skinnie, having showed up fifteen minutes before… ugh, before our shift started. He stood around the lobby like a lost child, too meek and afraid to ask anyone for direction until Charles, Marty and I approached him. Charles was all smiles and handshakes, and even Marty was cordial with the fucker. My fingers were clamped too tightly into fists to extend any pleasantries, and it was the first time that word slipped out today:
“Unbelievable.”
Charles heard it. I made sure that Charles heard it, and his reply was to peek over his shoulder and shoot me a shit-eating grin. He knows what he’s fucking doing. He’s setting me up for failure. He’s clamping the meta-fuckin’-phorical manacle and lead ball around my ankle before pushing me off the bridge and watching me sink to the inky depths. He’s trying to kill me without pointing a gun at the back of my head and pulling the trigger himself.
Coward.
… That one I didn’t say out loud. But I ain’t standing for this. My hands might be tied in regards to getting saddled with this sack of shit skinnie, but I’m not gonna sit by and let Charles Rossi get the better of me. My planning starts now. He’s gonna be the one to take this fall, not me. And when he’s lying in the gutter, grasping at my feet, begging me for help, I’m really gonna enjoy it when I get to tell him: “No.” Whether that’s a metaphorical gutter or a literal one, guess we’ll just have to wait and see what pans out.
Samuel Lawson. Even saying his name makes me gag. Scrawny fucker, not as sweaty or twitchy as Eggsy was but still looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over. His plain brown jacket and wrinkled tie apparently only offend me, since nobody else has said a damn thing about his appalling outfit. He comes across as less an employee of the Herdsters and more a schlubby door to door salesman trying to peddle trashy kitchenware and cleaning supplies.
It’s all grins and “hello’s” from everyone else as the skinnie gets shown around our office, shaking hands and exchanging names with anyone Charles points him out to. He wears a nervous smile as the triceratops leads him deeper into the building before plopping him in a chair across from Irene, our personnel manager. The slightly chubby compsognathus slides a stack of paperwork across her desk for the skinnie to fill out, usual employment rigmarole. I know Charles will be getting a copy of that paperwork later on to stuff into his own little dossier he has on each employee under his supervision. After all, information is power, and holding a man’s address and social security number is pretty motivating if push comes to shove.
I attempt to excuse myself several times, not really having an interest in watching this troglodyte sign his name on two dozen different forms, but each time I try Charles asks me to do something for him. Fetch another form for our “new employee”, get him a cup of coffee, check with his assistant to see if any phone calls have come in… I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s yanking my leash every time I try to make a break for it, and it’s really pissing me off.
This goes on for the majority of the morning. How I kept my composure through it all and didn’t just tear Charles’s throat out is beyond my comprehension, but the time wasn’t a complete waste. It gave me an opportunity to watch the triceratops I have every intention of supplanting in his natural habitat. Sure, I could easily walk up to him and tap his forehead with a .357 round, but all that’d earn me is a lead kiss of my own. I have to be smarter about it. If I’m gonna knock this honeycomb off the tree, I need to make sure I’m not gonna get stung.
I’ve worked with the Herdsters for almost ten years now. I didn’t have any relatives who worked for ‘em or any of their partner organizations. That’s usually how you got started, by being related to somebody who was already an employee. But I had the good fortune of having a father who became close friends with some higher ranking members of the Herdsters. A handful of years after the war had ended and I was struggling to make ends meet for Bianca and myself, plus our little boy and a baby girl on the way, my father spoke with his friends and put in a good word for me. There wasn’t even an interview; a few phone calls were made and I was in.
Nearly ten years I’ve been doing their dirty work. It didn’t start that way, either. In the beginning I wasn’t doing anything more than standing security at pickets. Every once in a while I’d get asked to do a special job, but that was usually driving someone somewhere or making a quick delivery. It wasn’t until I was brought under Charles Rossi’s wing that I started being asked to take care of heavier work. The kind where the deliverable is usually around two hundred pounds and turns from warm to cold real quick after the job’s done.
Charles is the kind of man who demands a lot of respect, and he had earned a lot of respect throughout the Herdsters. Hell, he even had my respect until very recently. He’s the kind of fella who wears a smile more often than not, probably to offset the rough way he looked from all the scars. He’s professional and courteous, but he is far from a pushover. Those who have thought they could take advantage of his friendly demeanor for their own selfish ends usually wound up “enjoying” an early retirement.
Before he plucked me up and brought me onto his team, I was making a little money. Enough to put food on the table for my family in our small apartment, but it wasn’t much better than bagging groceries. After I started reporting to him, things got a lot better. I was able to afford our beautiful house, and both the cars. Bianca was able to quit her job and focus on keeping the home and the kids. I even started moving up the ranks, slowly but surely, and making even more money from the extra responsibilities I was being asked to undertake.
And then… all that unpleasantness with Franky happened.
Ever since, I’ve been busted back down to errand boy and quick fixer, though thankfully they didn’t dock my pay too badly. I’m still bringing in enough to keep Bianca happy and keep food on the table… but I’ve been here nearly ten years. Regardless of any alleged “mistakes” or “setbacks” or “troubles” that I may or may not have caused, I don’t deserve to be treated like dirt and made to babysit a fucking skinnie.
Almost on cue, the skinnie gets a clap on the back from Charles as the last of his paperwork is completed. The entire morning is wasted with this latest acquisition, another worthless human who’s going to be a pain in my ass at best and a backstabbing thief at worst. Charles turns to Marty and I with a grin; I know what’s about to come, but dread it all the same.
“Well, Samuel. You’re all set on the administrative side. I say it’s high time for you to get out there on the streets and get some practical work under your belt. Pierce and Marty here would love to show you the ropes on how we do things!” His tongue slides back and forth behind his teeth as he stares directly at me, his disingenuous smile not faltering in the slightest. It takes every ounce of my composure to not lash him across the snout with my tail.
Marty breaks the tense moment of silence. “Not a problem at all, Charles. We’ll take him on our rounds.”
Charles stuffs a hand into his pocket and withdraws a stack of bills. He hands the skinnie thirty bucks before gently patting his shoulder. “Why don’t you fellas go get yourselves some lunch, and then take care of as much of the route as you can before all that beautiful, scalding sunlight outside dries up?”
The human looks at the money with saucepan eyes before turning back to Charles. “Um… I–I’ll bring you back your change when we’re done, Mr. Rossi!” Charles only shakes his head and gives a wink before striding away, humming to himself like he’s the king of the world.
It feels like the vein in my neck is gonna burst. My claws dig into my palms. Charles gives this filthy human two hundred dollars as a “sign-on bonus”, then gives him a job, and now forks over another thirty bucks just for lunch?! After we nearly lost all those dues that we collected to Eggsy and his bullshit–is Charles actually mentally retarded or does he think that inconveniencing me is truly worth this much money?!
Scenario after scenario plays over in my head as I try to piece together exactly how I’m going to make it through the day without strangling this skinnie to death with my own two hands. If I do, it’ll cost me my own life… but I just don’t see how I’m gonna be able to keep from doing it. Charles is playing his cards perfectly to put me in the most infuriating, inescapable spot that he can, and I’m starting to worry that it’s gonna work.
I take a deep breath, thinking of Bianca and the kids and how much it would hurt them if I was given an early retirement. I repeat to myself several times: it ain’t worth throwing your life away over one worthless skinnie.
“Pierce? You there, bud?” Marty’s voice pulls me back to reality. “Guess lunch is on the boss today, so let’s go get some grub. I’m starvin’!”
I can’t help but shoot my furious gaze in the skinnie’s direction one more time. He flinches away from me, rightly expecting that I could backhand his head clean off his shoulders if I felt inclined to do so. I snort before spinning on my heel, heading toward the parking garage and the long overdue escape from this place. The thorn in my side sheepishly follows behind Marty and myself, but at least I’m free of Charles’s antagonizing bullshit for the time being.
Three of the doors belonging to my Cadillac click shut; I’m too angry to even bother getting more upset by another skinnie being in my vehicle in such a short amount of time. As we pull out of the parking garage, Marty glances between me and the intruder in my back seat. “So, where you fellas in the mood to go for lun–”
“Horatio’s.”
Marty’s eyes widen in response to my one-word response. “H–Horatio’s? That place is… like, top top stuff! Heck, we’re probably underdressed for–”
“We’ll be fine.” Despite my anger, I’m able to put on a half-smile. “Besides, boss is payin’ for it, right?”
The only response Marty can muster is to shrug. The skinnie keeps his silence until we arrive at the restaurant about five minutes later; a valet whisks my car away from the small pull-through lane in front of the building. Before the three of us stand two marbled pillars, vines adorned with flowers every color of the rainbow weaving around each and joining together at the arch connecting them. They flank an enormous oakwood door attended by an ankylosaurus gentleman in a fine white suit. He offers a subtle bow as he ushers us into the restaurant.
I’d been to Horatio’s a few times before, but the splendor of its decor still gives me pause. White and green seem to be the only colors on display as the walls function as trellises for exquisite and exotic plant life. Their leaves are disturbed only by the gentle overhead fans that cool the space. We’re led to a round table dressed in an immaculate white cloth and already furnished with utensils and wine glasses.
As I expected, the heads of a few staff members turn our direction, likely due to the skinnie in our company. None of us are in our most formal clothing, but his shabby outfit is assuredly causing snouts to turn up. No matter, I’m gonna get a nice meal at his, and by proxy Charles’s, expense.
A dapper stegosaurus strides over to us, gently placing menus at our places before asking what we’d like to drink. A tall glass of some of their finest wine sounds nice for me, so I order it. Marty raises an eyebrow at me before ordering the same. The skinnie asks for water. Typical. Maybe they’ll bring it to him in a bowl so he can lap it up.
I chuckle as I watch the color drain from the human’s face upon reading the menu. Marty notices, too, before speaking. “Sorry, Samuel. This here’s an herbivore-exclusive restaurant. Ya won’t find any burgers or chicken breasts on that menu. Though… humans are omnivorous, so you’re okay with that, right?”
The skinnie gulps. “Y-yeah. I’m… okay with that…” He ain’t fretting over the lack of meat options. It’s the price that’s bothering him. And I intend to milk that for all it’s worth.
The waiter returns with a bottle of wine, showcasing its name and vintage to us before gently pouring it into the glasses in front of Marty and I. Water from a pitcher finds its way into the skinnie’s glass. Shame. As our server asks us for our lunch orders, I can’t help but wear a smile of self-satisfaction as I deliver my words. “I’ll have the Salade d’Eden. Extra fern leaves, extra ginkgo. Please and thank you.”
The waiter offers a polite nod before turning to Marty whose mouth now hangs open in my direction. He shakes away the surprise before glancing back at his menu as though he’s never seen it before in his life. “... I’ll get the Panthalassa, no tomatoes, and easy on the dressing, please.”
The rest of the color has drained from the skinnie’s face. He stutters. “Umm… I–I’ll just have the Caesar salad, sir. Th–thank you.”
With another reserved yet gracious bow, our server disappears into the kitchen, clutching the menus he collected before departing. I can’t help but smirk at the situation, the little shit who gave me such a headache yesterday now staring at his hands in his lap. He might have ordered the cheapest item on the menu for himself, but that thirty bucks isn’t gonna cover our food. Hell, my salad alone is gonna come to over fifteen smackers. He can dip into that “sign-on bonus” that Charles foolishly gave him to cover the excess, and he’d better leave a good tip, too.
“So, Samuel…” Marty’s voice causes my grin to fade. “Tell us a little about yourself. Like… oh, for starters, you mind if we call you ‘Sam’?”
I feel my lip curl. I won’t be calling him anything but “worthless”. Worthless stammers out a reply. “Y–yeah. That’s fine. I don’t mind Sam.”
Marty smiles, offering the skinnie far too much grace. “Well, Sam, tell us about yourself.”
“Uhh… well, I dunno what there really is to tell. I’m a loading dock–” He stops before his cheeks flush. Disgusting. “O–oh. I mean, I w–was… well, you know… you guys were…”
“Relax, buddy. You don’t gotta be so nervous. We’re gonna be coworkers after all. How long were you workin’ at Sal’s before Charles hired ya?”
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, entirely disinterested in the conversation. The skinnie answers Marty. “... Almost nine months.”
“Hey, that’s pretty respectable. I bet Sal was pretty shocked that you flew the coop so suddenly?”
The lump of flesh called a nose on that creature’s face scrunches slightly and his brow furrows. “Actually… since you mention it, he wasn’t surprised at all. I told him this morning and he said he was… aware. Wished me luck and signed my time card for my last paycheck before shaking my hand and sending me off to… well, to the Herdsters office.”
Marty nods. “Ah, sure. Makes sense. I bet Charles called him and let him know. Remember, Sal’s a member of our union, too. I’m sure he’ll be a bit sad to lose a hard worker, but you’re movin’ up in the world now, kid!” I do my best to keep from retching as a slight smile tugs at the skinnie’s face. “So what else with you? Got a wife or kids?”
“No. No kids. An ex-wife, but that’s ancient history. I, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I did start seein’ this gal. Hoping things work with her.” Another troglodyte like himself, no doubt. “What about you, Marty?”
Marty grins. “Got myself a beautiful wife of two years, and our firstborn is on the way. Less than a month out from her due date, and lemme tell ya, they only get more beautiful when they’re pregnant. O’course, she’s got a bit of a mood on her some mornings, but I get that she’s carrying quite a hefty burden inside of her!” The two share a nauseating smile. “Pierce here knows. He’s got a wife and two ki–”
My palm slams into the table, causing the dinnerware to clatter and Marty’s words to cut short. His eyes widen at me in bewilderment, but I wordlessly communicate everything I need to with the glare I fire at him.
The silence I commanded is interrupted by the waiter as he proffers a plate adorned with various salads to each of us. The one laid before me is heaping and exquisite, each exotic leaf and frond perfectly washed and sparkling with delectable oils and seasoning. It’s the crown jewel item at this establishment, and well worth the hefty price it commands. Marty’s selection looks delicious as well, and even the meager plate set before the human, though about half the size of mine and Marty’s, is likely going to be the best salad that lump of flesh has ever eaten.
I savor each bite, basking in the richness of both texture and flavor. I love Bianca’s cooking to death, but even she couldn’t pull off a salad this complex. The ginkgo truly brings the artistry of it all together, forming taste combinations that–
“I’ve got a dog. Big fluffy white fella named Saxon. He’s a sheepdog and about as smart as a box of rocks, but he’s a lovable guy.”
The skinnie’s words cause me to stop mid-chew and shift my smile of appreciation for this luxurious meal into a grimace of annoyance and disgust. He wasn’t speaking to me, of course, but his words grate in my ears all the same. I can’t even have one nice thing without a fucking human ruining it.
Marty smiles at the skinnie, finishing his own mouthful of salad before replying. “Is that so? Tina’s super allergic to most of those furry creatures so we never had any pets. It’ll make things awkward when our little boy or girl gets to the age when they end up wantin’ a puppy for Christmas!”
The two chuckle and carry on with their meals and small talk. I finish my lunch in silence and repulsion, opting to continue not humoring the fleshbag who interrupted my culinary delight. As the other two place the last bites of their own food into their mouths, the waiter returns with a slender black check presenter adorned with a golden inlay of the restaurant’s name. He sets it on the table, bows and departs again. I glance down at it, then at the skinnie whose smile has fallen away once again as he flips it open to review the damage.
Well, that’s enough fun for me. The check’s his problem now. I rise from the table, rolling my shoulders and cracking my back in the process. “Thanks for lunch, skinnie, even though it’s Charles’s money payin’ for it. Hopefully you can do some simple math to figure out the tip our waiter is owed.” I shoot the human a grin, letting him know where he stands on this totem pole. He gives a shaky nod before fishing out his wallet; Marty only frowns at me.
I stroll back toward the car, the doorman once again opening the colossal portal to the scorching outdoors. This heat wave is gonna cause problems, I can just tell. It’s already an air conditioner repairman’s wet dream with how hard those units are having to work. The valet brings my car around again and I hand him a buck. Fun as it’d be to make the skinnie pay for this, too, I just don’t feel like interacting with him anymore. I know I’ll have to, but I’d prefer to keep as much distance between myself and the little scab as possible.
Truthfully, I’d prefer he be dead, but we can’t always get what we want in this life.
A minute or so later, Marty and the skinnie emerge from the restaurant and we all pile into my Cadillac. The next several hours are business as usual: rolling from union partner to union partner, exchanging pleasantries, chatting about the weather and the damn good season the Yankees have been having, and collecting union dues. Marty seems a little more on edge today than he normally would be, and a little less friendly with the clients we visit. The skinnie stays in the car.
Around four thirty in the afternoon, Marty and I step out of a jewelry store and back onto the frying pan sidewalk. The owner had offered me a silver necklace with a small half-moon pendant to give to my wife, free of charge. I told him that Bianca’s got plenty of neck adornments already, but volunteered Marty’s wife for the gift. He obliged, throwing in a clasp extender to accommodate the diplodocus woman’s thicker appendage.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
I glance toward my car, parked about two blocks away; parking in this part of the neighborhood is always rough, so we’re lucky we even got that. Marty holds the small box in his hand, looking down at it with a vacant expression. I give him a tap on the arm and a smile. “I’m sure Tina is gonna love that.”
His eyes snap up to me. “What the hell is your problem, Pierce?”
I step back. “Whoah, where is this coming from all of a sudden? What did I say?”
He jabs a finger down the sidewalk in the direction of my car. “You’ve been nothing but cruel to Sam today, same as you were with Eggsy.”
My confusion shifts to irritation. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, Pierce, that he is our coworker. What was that bullshit with lunch, huh?”
I shrug. “What? Charles paid for it–”
“The bill came to almost forty dollars. Charles gave him enough money to buy ten reasonable lunches, but you decided to haul us to one of the fanciest herbi-restaurants in the entire city.”
“So? The skinnie had sign-on money to cover the rest.”
Marty shakes his head. “That was a shitty thing for you to do and you know it. And as far as I’m concerned, you owe me for the remaining part of that bill that I covered for you.”
“You… why would you do that?”
“Because I’m not interested in being Sam’s enemy, Pierce. Like it or not, he’s gonna be working with us for a while. You sticking him with huge lunch checks that you ran up and leaving him sitting in your back seat sweating his ass off is gonna earn you an enemy.”
I click my tongue. “Truthfully, I’d prefer he was in a ditch instead of my back seat.”
Marty’s arms go up in a show of flabbergast. “That’s exactly what I’m fuckin’ talking about! You’re not even treating Sam like he’s alive! When is it gonna get through your skull that he’s a person just like you or me?”
My lip curls into a scowl. “He isn’t like you or me. He is a skinnie. He is rotten to his core, intrinsically and genetically. Hell, why do you think crime rates are so high with–”
“Pierce, I love you like a brother, but you need to shut the fuck up with this. I don’t give a shit about statistics or what happened in your past. We’re treating Sam like a coworker until he proves otherwise. Everything I’m seeing from him so far leads me to believe he’s a good guy and he’s gonna be a hard worker, if we give him the chance.”
I laugh. “Sure! He’ll be innocent and charming until we turn our backs for one second, at which point he’ll dart down the road with a briefcase full of cash, just like Eggsy did!”
Both of our voices have been raising incrementally. Marty’s is practically a shout at this point. “He ain’t Eggsy! Eggsy fucked up, and got did in for it! You’re accusing Sam of guilt before he’s even done anything wrong!”
My eyes flare. “What about the money in the alley, huh?! That little prick admitted himself that he woulda ran off with it if I hadn’t caught him!”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Pierce! Put yourself in his shoes, why don’t you? If you were a human, piss broke, working a shit job and trying to woo a gal, you wouldn’t take an opportunity like that if it was presented to you?”
I straighten my back. “Unlike skinnies, I have honor and integrity.”
Marty’s eyes roll. “Yeah, sure, Pierce. You’d fork over that fortune to some organization you don’t even know, that has employees like you that hate every fuckin’ human they see, pointin’ guns at ‘em and talkin’ about how much they want ‘em dead.” He jabs an accusatory finger at me to emphasize his point. “You want Sam to turn out to be a thieving, backstabbing son of a bitch like you’ve already got him figured to be? Keep treating him like you are. See how that goes for you. Maybe after he cuts your throat with his caveman knife made of bone he’ll spare me, seeing as I actually think he might be worth the fuckin’ air he breathes.”
Before I can respond, he spins on his heel and storms down the sidewalk toward the car. I see his head shaking and catch glimpses of his lips moving, but whatever he’s muttering is carried off in the other direction by the scalding breeze.
A moment goes by before I follow after him, mind awash with annoyance and disdain. He still doesn’t get it. His heart is too soft. He knows what I did, what I had to do, even why I did it… but he still sympathizes. His hand ain’t been bit by the striped cat hard enough yet to know you never put your hand near a striped cat. Mine has.
We take our seats in the front of the car again; I jam the key in the ignition and begin rolling toward our next destination. The skinnie looks to Marty and I with a weak smile, dabbing at the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief. “How’d everything go?”
Marty tosses the envelope with the jewelry store’s dues into the glove compartment before slamming it shut. I know he’s upset, but I’d still prefer he didn’t damage my car. “It was fine.” He pauses, glancing down at the small rectangular box still in his hand before leaning a shoulder over the seat and facing the back seat. “Hey. You said you were datin’ a gal, right?”
The skinnie blinks a few times. “Uh… yeah. I’m supposed to see her again tomorrow night.”
Marty grins. “That’s swell. Here. I think she’ll like this.” He tosses the package back to the human who catches it in surprise. My eyes shoot toward Marty; he just shrugs at me. “Tina’s got enough of that shit, too. Plus she was never much of a fan of stuff like suns and moons on her jewelry.”
The skinnie’s eyes widen as he pulls open the box to view its contents. He withdraws the thin silver chain, staring at the small, sparkling crescent moon that dangles from it. “H–holy shit. This is… it’s really nice! Are… are you sure I can have this?”
A wink from Marty betrays the tone of his words. “Well… that’s gonna cost you, actually.” The skinnie glances back up to the diplodocus; he shifts and sheepishly reaches for his wallet. Marty chuckles and waves a hand. “Not your money, you rube! You’re gonna come in with us during our next stop.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Probably our last stop of the day. I’m spent.”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. The skinnie stammers. “Y–you want me to come with you? What do you need me to do?”
Even though his posture has straightened in his seat again, Marty still faces the human with the aid of his lengthy and pliable neck. “Just watch what we do. If someone addresses you, be polite, but don’t get rattled. We mostly service dinosaur-owned businesses, but they shouldn’t give you any trouble. If they do, they’ll have to answer to me and Pierce.” He steals a glance at me with the utterance of my name. I don’t reply, but I watch the skinnie squirm slightly through the rearview mirror.
It only takes a few more minutes to arrive at the last location on today’s checklist, Murphy’s 8-Ball Lounge. The place is a bit of a dive near the edge of a rough neighborhood and tends to draw in an even rougher crowd. We’ll see if the skinnie can keep his head. If not, hey, it wasn’t my fault. Charles would have nothin’ on me.
I park us near the front and we all make our way up to the entrance. Cheap black paint chips and flakes off of the door, with thin, clumpy strands being flitted by the wind as I pull it open. Inside, the stagnant souls of cigarettes burned by the tens of thousands are caked into every surface. Six pool tables rest underneath six sets of light fixtures with many of their bulbs burned out and ignored. A dingy bar at the back with a poorly stocked shelf of dusty liquor bottles is helmed by a twitchy deinonychus, nervously glancing at the three of us as we walk down the center aisle of pool tables toward him. I’ve seen him before, but he isn’t Murphy. He’s just the bartender, and I never caught his name.
The telltale CLACK of pool balls draws my attention to the fella who appears to be the only patron in the establishment at this time, a rotund tyrannosaurus who struggles with the pool cue given his stubby arms made even stubbier by his stomach. He shoots me a toothy grin before shifting around the table to line up another shot.
There’s no sign of the owner, only these two gentlemen. I lean against the bar before addressing the deinonychus. “Is Murphy around?”
The bartender’s eyes skitter from me to my partner who’s stepped up next to me at the bar. Marty withdraws and lights a cigarette, adding one more spirit to the ghosts of nicotine past that clog every pore of this establishment. The skinnie lags behind by several paces, glancing around at the varied but sparse pop culture decorations adorning the walls. Before the deinonychus can answer, a voice calls out from the opening door that leads to the back office.
“Yeah, I’m here. How you doin’, Pierce?”
I give him a nod. “Not too bad, Murphy. Slow night tonight?” I glance around to emphasize my words.
Murphy nods, scratching the bottom of his baryonyx chin. “Yeah, well. We’ve been havin’ more of those lately.” Another clatter of pool balls.
“Sorry to hear it, buddy. Hope things pick up for you.”
He doesn’t respond to me, instead looking past me to the skinnie standing aimlessly in the center of the pool hall. “What about you, pal? You lookin’ for some pool? Buy a couple drinks, you get a few games on the house.”
Before our extra baggage can reply, Marty clues Murphy in. “He’s actually with us. Guess you could say he’s getting some on the job training as we do our rounds.” His smile isn’t returned by the baryonyx.
“Izzat so? Huh. Guess weak species stick together.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Come again, pal?”
He shrugs. “Nothin’. It’s nice that the Herdsters is embracing diversity. Wouldn’t want the best choices for the job handling the hardest work, after all.” Murphy glances at the talons on his fingertips.
I rub my forehead in annoyance. He’s made off-hand remarks like this before, and it’s taken a lot of self-control for me to keep from punching him in the throat for it. Skinnies? Yes, they are a subservient and inferior species. But claiming that carnivores are better than herbivores? Go three rounds in a ring with me and see who comes out on top, buddy.
Marty tries to rein the conversation back in. “Murphy, you know why we’re here, and we’ve had a long day. You mind if we handle your membership dues so we can get outta your hair?”
“Well, I been meaning to talk to you fellas about that. About my… membership.” I frown, already knowing where Murphy is going with this. “Y’see, times are pretty tough right now. As you can see, we’ve been having a lot of ‘slow nights’. Enough that I’m a bit short.”
CLACK. “How short, Murphy?”
He flexes his lower jaw left and right, eliciting a loud pop from the joint. “All the way short. In fact, I think I’m gonna withdraw from the Herdsters. Don’t seem to be much point in membership for a little establishment like mine, what with times bein’ so tough and all.”
I sigh. “Murphy, if you want to withdraw from the union, you gotta take that up with the Local 237. I don’t have the paperwork for that in my back pocket.” I shake my head. “It also woulda been nice to get a heads up on your plan to back out so that we didn’t waste a trip out here.”
The baryonyx’s yellow eyes narrow. “Nah, it’s not a wasted trip. I was actually hoping you fellas might help me with some back dues. Y’know, seein’ as we really ain’t been gettin’ our money’s worth.” I straighten up, as does Marty. We both realize the situation that is likely developing. “You two have a lucrative day today?”
I speak through gritted teeth. “Half day, actually. You chose a bad one to make a play like this, Murphy.”
He shrugs. “What can ya do? Guess we’ll just have to ma–”
“PIERCE, LOOK OUT!”
The skinnie’s voice causes me to spin around, narrowly dodging away from the colossal jaws that just snapped in my direction. The goddamn tyrannosaurus is with them, too, and he just about took my fucking head off. He stumbles forward, his trajectory having anticipated making contact with me. He rights his balance before spinning around and dashing toward me again.
I hear Marty yell something but his voice quickly turns to a choked gargle as the deinonychus leaps onto the bar and wraps his arms around my partner’s neck, squeezing as hard as he can and leaning back to leverage his weight into the choke hold. Marty grasps at the deinonychus and flails his head around, gasping for air and knocking several glasses to the floor in a loud crash.
I duck away from the tyrannosaurus’s second bite, avoiding that one just as narrowly as the first. If he catches me in those teeth, I’m done for; no living dinosaur can overpower a t-rex’s jaws. He doesn’t lose his balance like before, resetting before attempting a third lunge, turning his head sideways to grasp at my midsection. His teeth catch the bare edge of my suit jacket as I leap back, loudly ripping the fabric. He glances at the bit of non-flesh in his maw before spitting it on the ground and charging once more.
I have to do something. His teeth are killer, but the rest of him is…
Before he can make contact, my tail cracks out from behind me, one of the spike tips tagging him in the back of the knee mid-lunge. The puncturing impact makes him stumble uncontrollably; he lifts his head and rotates his stubby arms to try to regain balance. Just the opening I need.
I duck down, planting my feet firmly as he topples toward me. I jam one hand into his stomach and the other into the large portion of scales where his lower jaw meets his neck, using his momentum to heave him overhead. He lets out a holler as he flips over in the air, aided by my grip before slamming back-first into the felt of a pool table. His tail slaps the overhead lights free of their fixture, spewing shattered glass in all directions. The table snaps in two, crashing into the floor and launching pool balls straight up into the air. The tyrannosaurus gasps; I assist him by raining several kicks into the top of his head until he goes limp.
Shooting my attention back to Marty, I see that he’s lurched forward and managed to loosen the bartender’s grip around his neck by slamming the clinging deinonychus into the bar. Both dinosaurs stumble and gasp for breath; I take several steps toward them and withdraw my pistol only in time for the claws of a baryonyx to rend themselves across my hand, sending both the weapon and my blood sliding down the walkway behind me.
Murphy shrieks as he lashes out repeatedly with his talons. I do my best to deflect his attacks but more gashes open on my arms and more of my blood spatters across the ground. I try to strike at him with my tail but he anticipates the attack, slapping it away harmlessly with his own before lunging again.
As he brings his deadly claws down again, I see a brief opening. I push my left arm into his grip, feeling the searing heat of my flesh being ripped open again, but force his stance wide before bringing my right fist thundering into the bottom of his jaw. Murphy’s teeth loudly clatter together in response to my uppercut and his eyes gloss over. He rocks back on his feet before crumpling.
I breathe heavily, staring down at the incapacitated baryonyx before turning back to Marty. He’s regained his composure in time to clobber the bartender in the face with his stocky fists. After a solid couple hits, he hoists the smaller dino upward and launches him back behind the bar, the ear-splitting crash of dozens of liquor bottles filling the room. My partner stumbles, catching one of the bar stools with his arms as he keeps gasping for breath. Aside from our mutual labored breathing, the room is silent.
I step toward him, clutching the worst of the ribbons of scales that dangle from my forearms, trying to prevent as much further blood from escaping me as possible. “I… I told you… that you gotta quit smoking…”
His neck lifts with an effort and he offers me a weak smile. “Haah… haah… shut up… Pierce…”
I try to return the smile but a rustling of glass shards causes my eyes to shoot open. “MARTY!”
Too late. The deinonychus rears up with a full liquor bottle in hand and clubs Marty over the head. The sickening crack of unbroken glass on bone portents the colossal thud of his body hitting the ground. His neck topples like a loosed rope before his head collides with the carpet. Whether he’s dead or not, I don’t know.
The bartender’s furious gaze fires in my direction, half-blinded by glass shards jutting from his forehead and cheek. He screeches past the oozing blood as he leaps onto the bar and hurls himself toward me.
My tail was already wound up before his feet left the bar.
Within an arm’s reach of me, the sides of the thick spikes on my tail tip collide with his head like a couple of baseball bats, causing his neck to bend violently and abruptly. The combination of his momentum and the whip-crack of my tail brings his screech to an unceremonious, gurgling end as his limp body crashes into the floor. His visible eye drains of color as his mouth hangs open, offering only a soundless, horrified scream.
My attention turns back to Marty. He’s still lying motionless. Fuck… don’t be dead, Marty. I can’t lose another–
Scorching pain fires through my spine as teeth clamp into my back between two of my plates. I try to spin around but dual sets of talons rake down my back and shoulder, causing me to stumble and fall to a knee. My tail instinctively plants itself flat behind me, keeping me upright as best it can as Murphy looms over me, my blood dripping from his jaws and hands.
“You just had to make this difficult, didn’t you? You couldn’t just hand over the fuckin’ money? Now I gotta clean all this up, and dispose of two…” He glances over at the lifeless deinonychus before shaking his head. “... three dead bodies.”
I clutch at my shoulder. My fingers do little to stymie the bleeding. “The… Herdsters are… gonna find out… about this…”
“I’m not worried about the Herdsters. I’ll be long gone by the time they figure anythin’ out. And so will you and your pal. Just in a different manner of speakin’.” He laughs. “I never did like you, Pierce. An herbivore actin’ tough is embarrassing. Sure, you get a lucky shot in every now and again…” He glances at the bartender’s body again. “... but at the end of the day, the food chain remains the same. It’s simple genetics.”
My vision starts to blur. It’s getting awfully difficult to hold my head up. Not that it’ll be a concern for much longer.
He rolls his shoulder and pops his jaw again. “Enough yacking. It’s the end of the line for–”
CRACK!
Murphy stumbles forward slightly, eyes wide in surprise. I shake the bleariness from my own eyes to make out what just happened. The splintered top half of a pool cue slides across the floor. Murphy slowly turns around to lock gazes with… the skinnie. He holds the other broken half of the pool cue, staring at it as though it’s the last thing he’ll ever see. Truthfully, it probably will be, along with Murphy’s jaws closing around his head. He looks back up at the baryonyx.
Murphy roars as he lunges. “YOU LITTLE FU–”
The human hunches down and rams the broken end of his makeshift spear into Murphy’s leg just above the knee, the now sharpened wood piercing straight through his scales. The baryonyx howls as he crumples to his knees, clutching at the cue that stands upright out of his leg, blood beginning to trickle from its sides to the floor.
Fueled by nothing but adrenaline and rage, I lurch forward, wrapping both hands around Murphy’s head. He screams and grasps at my forearms, but not in time. With a loud snap, I rotate his neck much farther than it can naturally go. His arms fall slack at his side; as I release my grasp, his body collapses to the ground, half of a pool cue still jutting from his leg.
I consider following him down, slumping back on my laurels and doing my best to remain conscious. I took a pounding and lost a lot of blood. I also don’t know if that tyrannosaurus is down for the count. If not, he could easily finish me off if I do decide to take a nap on this comfortable looking carpet.
My hazy eyes find the human again. He stares down at Murphy’s now lifeless body with a look of shock. He stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the maw of the still unconscious t-rex before the back of his shoe clatters into something small and metallic. He glances at it before stooping down to retrieve…
My revolver.
He stares at the device, holding it before him like a treasure hunter who just found a golden goblet. He brings his hands to the proper resting position to wield the weapon, finger on the trigger, spinning toward the tyrannosaurus and aiming it in his direction. He remains like this for several seconds, but he doesn’t shoot and the t-rex doesn’t stir. He then focuses on Murphy, aiming the gun at his body while sliding his feet cautiously in its direction. Finally, his eyes come to rest on… me.
His breathing is erratic. His eyes are wide and his pupils are dilated. He’s even more pale than when I ordered that fifteen dollar salad for lunch. The barrel of the gun slowly rises.
So this is how it happens. Done in by the skinnie I was so close to executing not even twenty four hours ago. I was right. Of course I was right. Marty’s bleeding heart is gonna end in both of us bleeding our last in this dingy pool hall. Well, at least I’ll die knowing I was… I was…
The revolver rests inches away from me… but it faces the wrong way. The human holds its barrel, extending the grip to me. “C’mon, Pierce. We gotta get out of here. I… I think Marty is in bad shape, and I’m not gonna be able to get him back to the car by myself.”
I blink. In response, the human gives the revolver a small shake, beckoning me to accept it. I oblige, now taking my turn to gaze at it as though it’s a long-lost relic. The human moves past me and over to Marty, glancing at the dead deinonychus before bending over to Marty’s head and clapping a gentle hand to his cheek. He tries to beckon Marty back to consciousness… and it seems to work, albeit very slowly. With labored movements, Marty’s neck begins shifting and his arms draw inward. He mutters something incoherent.
“Pierce, please. I need your help to get Marty up.”
I’m not exactly in tip-top shape myself here, human, but let me get right on that request. I struggle to bring one knee up, planting a palm on it and sucking in air before hoisting myself upward. My legs buckle, but my tail works overtime and keeps me upright as my other shoe flattens itself on the carpet beneath me. I shake away the dizziness and turn toward the two of them. Marty’s at least gotten his arms underneath himself and his neck halfway airborne again, but his head still rests on the ground.
“P… Pierce… wh… did we…” His words are slurred and broken. Whether he’s concussed or not, I don’t know.
“C’mon, buddy. Save that energy for walkin’.”I use the little remaining strength I have to toss one of Marty’s arms over my shoulder. The human does his best with Marty’s other arm, but nearly crumbles underneath the diplodocus’s weight. His assistance is… not a complete waste. Together the three of us take small steps toward the door, Marty’s neck still dangling loosely, his head very nearly dragging on the ground despite his body being mostly upright.
The setting sun is still high enough in the sky to dazzle me as we push the door open. No pedestrians are nearby, so there’s no one to take account of the two battered dinosaurs and one unscathed human that exit a pool hall and bar that’s now host to two dead bodies. With a struggle, we get to my car. I decide to help Marty into the back seat so he can lay down, though given his size it’s not a very comfortable bed. He still graciously accepts my offer without complaint, immediately closing his eyes and breathing heavily.
We’re gonna have to get ourselves to a hospital. I fish out my keys and begin stumbling over to the driver’s seat, but the human’s hand stops me. “Pierce… look, man. I know you don’t like me, but… you’re not in any condition to drive. Let me handle it, I’ll get you guys to a doctor.”
My eyes flare in his direction, but that’s about all I can do in protest. I don’t like it, but… he is right. I’m barely staying on my feet as it is. I’d probably wrap my Cadillac around a light pole before we make it two blocks down the road. The keys land in his open palm. He nods before moving around the vehicle to the driver’s side door. I slide into the passenger seat, immediately closing my eyes as the door latches shut beside me.
I’m too exhausted to pay attention to his driving. I’m sure I could find things to criticize about it, or worry myself about letting a human drive my precious vehicle, but the only sensations I feel are the quiet rumble of the engine and the gentle hum of the pavement beneath our wheels.
“Pierce?”
I just wanna sleep, but I’m too tired to tell him off. I reply without opening my eyes. “... Yeah?”
“Was that… uhh… was that an average day at the office?”
I smile. “... No, Samuel. No, it was not.”