B48C9/10 - Money and Thugs

The two guys clanging down the staircase definitely did not work for the utility company.

They reached the bottom. Brushed the hanging cobwebs aside like they were parting a curtain. And approached my cube.

Two guys. Late teens.

Neither looked bright enough to be the mastermind behind this nightmare scenario. Definitely not the brains of the operation, Rachel.

One was tall and skinny. He wore dirty, torn jeans and a black T-shirt. There was a tattoo of a rat on his right cheek.

The other one was short and fat. He also wore dirty, torn jeans. But his T-shirt screamed The Grateful Dead in psychedelic swirls and acid-hot colors. Over that he wore a light blue windbreaker. His hair was pulled into a thin, greasy ponytail.

There is just no accounting for taste.

These guys were nothing. I could take punks like these.

These guys looked like they survived on a diet of Twinkies and 7UP.

They were mine.

I'd say nothing.

I'd wait for them to tell me what was going on.

What they wanted.

Who they were working for.

What they'd done with Cassie.

And then I'd make them sorry they'd ever messed with me.

Tattoo looked at Grease. "Here it is, man. Just like he said."

Grease looked around, nodded. "Yeah, dude. This is the place. So I guess now's the time. Now is definitely the time . . . I guess."

Neither of the punks looked at me. Not in the face, anyway.

This was so not their deal.

Then, whose? Whose!

Stay calm, Rachel. Stay calm.

Assess before you act.

Don't do anything stupid.

Grease reached into his jacket pocket. I saw now that it was bulging. Slowly, carefully he produced . . .

A rat.

Of course. Of course.


(...)


<You saw what my forces can do, back at the barn. With armies of rats, and a few more of these two,> David said, gesturing toward the punks with his twitching nose, <no one can stop me.>

I looked at the two witless thugs. David's willing hands and feet. Maybe I could stir up a little dissension.

"You guys realize you're working for a rat, don't you?" I said.

Tattoo shrugged. "He pays good."

"He pays good?" I snorted. "What are you talking about? He's a rat. You're working for cheese?"

David laughed wildly. <A rat can go many places a human cannot, Rachel. You should know that. Into banks. Into businesses. Places where money is kept. Lots of money. I steal it. A few bills at a time. It's hard work but it's paid off. Over the last few months, I've accumulated two hundred and twelve thousand dollars.>

I saw Tattoo and Grease exchange a glance. Tattoo swallowed hard. So did Grease. Just thinking about money was making them salivate.

<The money is safe in a place no human could possibly find,> David said. To his two buddies as well as me. <And there's more where that came from.>

"So what am I doing here?" I asked. "If you're poised to rule the world, what do you want with me?"

David laughed.