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That’s clear from the heavy SUV and the black car parked beside it in this gravel parking lot. The bars on the doors of his pawn ship, the reinforced frame, and the gigantic silhouettes I’ve seen through the window. Somewhere out there, a silverback exhibit is missing its inhabitants.
I glare at Havoc.
“He’s got bodyguards. And he’s fucking huge. What’s the plan? We just walk in there, demand he pay up or we’re going to smash him and his two gorillas in the dick?” I say, watching the guy through a pair of binoculars. We’re outside his pawn shop at an insignificant town outside Ironwood Falls called Eagle Ridge. The ‘guy’ and his two bodyguards are about as big as the rest of the town put together.
“Going right for the dick, huh? I see you don’t mess around, Hunter. I like that,” Mayhem says. “I know I was right to have a good feeling about you.”
Havoc nods. “It’s going to be fun, I know. Talking doesn’t work with this guy, anyway. We’ve already told him he’s out of options.”
“So we’ll likely just go with your idea, proceed right to the dick-punching, and take his money afterward,” Mayhem says. “But, since you’re the new guy, and we like you, we’ll let you be the first one to go for his dick.”
“I get the honors of being the first to touch his dick?” I say.
"Exactly. Now you’re getting it.”
Sarcasm doesn’t work on these two. Common sense doesn’t, either.
“Can we shoot the bodyguards at least? That’ll make things easier,” I say.
“No. No murder. It’d be bad for business,” Havoc says. He’s conspicuously holding a baseball bat and lightly smacking his hand with it, like, even though he says it’s bad for business, murder is exactly what he wants at this point in time.
“Fair enough. I get that. So how much did this guy borrow that you’re going to beat the shit out of him?”
Mayhem shrugs. “It’s not so much money. We built him something special. It even had spikes on the wheels, and I put a lot of time into the paint job, too, and he did not provide the object he was supposed to provide in exchange. He gave us money that, I suppose by some maths, would come out to an equivalent amount, but it’s not the same. You’re supposed to honor your word.”
“Just what the hell did he owe you?”
“I’ll give you a hint: they’re small, they glow, and they’re very destructive.”
“Oh fuck. Uranium or some shit?” It was a mistake to come here. This is too big, too much, too fucking illegal. I can’t be a dad to Charlie if I’m fucking radioactive. And I can’t be with Emily, either. Not unless she wants to ride on a glow-in-the-dark irradiated cock. My eyes go back to my bike, and I even take a step backward, until Mayhem puts a hand on my shoulder and brings me to a stop.
“You’re not going anywhere, Hunter. You’re in this for the duration. Now, come on, let’s go get what we’re owed.,” he says.
There’s no time for me to protest. As soon as he finishes speaking, he and Havoc start toward the door of the shop, dragging me along. It feels damned undignified to be dragged like a petulant toddler toward the pawnshop, but I have no regrets — because I doubt whatever radioactive shit Havoc and Mayhem are going to recover, none of it’s going to turn me into an X-Man or whatever the comic books say. No, the only thing I’ll get is cancer and a lot of loneliness.
“Knock knock,” Mayhem shouts as he kicks open the door. It gives way easily; probably because it’s business hours, and the door was unlocked. Just as the door opens, he whips an expandable baton out of his pocket and charges toward one of the man’s bodyguards while screaming at the top of his lungs.
Havoc releases his hold on me, hefts his bat, and charges. “Time to pay up, Horatio,” he screams.
They hit Horatio’s bodyguards like a hurricane, knocking each man to the floor with vicious precision and pummeling them into unconsciousness, while I stare at the stunned Horatio, feeling an equal sense of befuddlement.
“Havoc, Mayhem, what the fuck?” He screams. “I thought I had time.”
I’m content to just let the two of them handle it — they seem like they’ve got it all under control — and then Horatio makes a sudden move that belies his large size, darting toward the counter and reaching for something beneath it. I leap on him, catching him by the throat and tackling him to the ground. He fights back like a cornered animal, eyes bugging out, mouth curled in a rictus snarl, his powerful arms flailing wildly. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my side; he’s grabbed a small knife from somewhere and is slashing at me.
"Get off me, you freak!" Horatio roars, his voice a mix of desperation and rage. The knife slices through my shirt, but raising a cut along my abdomen. I wince, but I’ve had worse accidents while shaving.
A frantic blur of fists and elbows decimates the air between us. Somewhere behind me, I glimpse Mayhem knocking out the last bodyguard with a heavy smash of his baton. Horatio fights dirty, but I pin his knife-hand and then slam my forearm hard into his throat, making him spit and wheeze. It’s a satisfying feeling.
"Alright! Alright! Stop!" Horatio gasps, his voice rasping and gurgling through clenched teeth. "You win. I’ll stop fighting. We can figure this out."
Havoc and Mayhem exchange glances over their shoulders before turning their attention back to Horatio.
“Start talking,” Havoc growls. “We’re not leaving without our merchandise.”
Horatio strains against my grip but goes still when he realizes any further struggle is futile. "Okay," he pants. "It's in the back room. Safe behind the painting."
I glance at Havoc for confirmation, and he nods for me to haul Horatio up. Once on his feet, Horatio limps toward the back room with me not far behind, keeping a firm grip on his collar.
