New Job
The lizard was heading home. It was the third time this month he’d heard “We’ll get back to you,” and he knew perfectly well that it meant the exact opposite. He parked his old, rusty car under a small apartment block. He turned off the engine, which silenced the crackling radio, and he sat there for a moment, hunched over, barely fitting in his own car because of his size. He pulled out his phone.
“They'll be in Pentagon at 8 if u wanna.”
He looked at himself in the narrow rear view mirror, seeing only the reflection of his tired eyes, peering out from behind an unwashed mane.
He shook off the momentary daze; it happened to him sometimes, as long as he could remember. He usually called it “freezing”. It was probably a symptom of a chronic-something, and if he went to a doctor, it could be fixed, but who can afford that? Not him. He opened the glove compartment and tossed his vape inside to avoid getting a dirty look later. He got out of the car, heading towards his ground-floor apartment, walking under the roof that also served as a platform for the upstairs units. He reached out to grab the door handle but froze in place.
The door was bent and damaged to the point it couldn’t even be closed, and the lock was completely smashed. He pushed the door open and rushed inside, frantically scanning the cluttered, dark apartment. On the couch, he saw a woman. She sat hunched over, her face in her hands, bruises on her arms, wearing only an old T-shirt and underwear. Her torn stockings clung to her legs. In a second, he was kneeling beside her, trying to see her face.
“Mom! What happened?” He grabbed her arm, which brought her back to her senses a little.
She looked at him with a lost gaze. Her eyes were like big black stains from cocaine. She breathed heavily, and her hands shook. Her cheek and side of her forehead were swollen and bruised. Her lips trembled as if she was trying to say something but, at the same time, holding back tears with all her might.
“It’s just money, baby,” she stammered, sniffling repeatedly before she began to cry. She immediately reached for tissues on the old table, rummaging through empty bottles and plastic baggies.
For a moment, he wanted to ask more, but there was nothing left to say. He leaned back and sat on the floor, staring at his hands. Why does it have to be like this? He often asked himself that question, even though he wasn’t a kid anymore. And anyway, he always answered himself with, “It is what it is.” If he hadn’t, he would’ve ended up in a mental hospital long ago.
He sighed quietly.
“I got the job.”
“Really?” She looked up at him with a tired smile. He could swear there was a hint of motherly pride in it.
“Mhm. First shift’s at eight.” He returned the smile.
“That’s great!” She took his muzzle in her hands. “Just please promise me you won’t get yourself into trouble. We already have enough problems.”
“Mom…”
“Just promise me.”
He placed his paw on her hand.
“I promise.”
***
Digger tossed him a bag. He almost dropped it when catching. He looked inside. It was filled with small plastic bottles of greenish liquid. From afar, they looked like regular vape liquids, but in reality, it was Drageroyk. He placed the bag on the passenger seat and turned back to him. Instead, he saw a crumpled piece of paper in front of his nose.
“On paper? What year is this? Can’t you just text me?”
“The cops check texts, smartass. Paper it is. Burn it when you’re done.”
Even though he still wasn’t convinced, the lizard took the paper, instinctively examining it from both sides. It had creases from being folded at least three times, and on the front, a list of names and addresses was written in blue ink.
He got into the car and drove off, gripping the steering wheel tightly and taking deep breaths as the estimated travel time on the GPS gradually decreased. Every car behind him or beside him at the lights seemed like a police car, keeping him on edge without a moment of relaxation. He would’ve played some music to occupy his mind with something else, but the radio, which had only been sputtering earlier, was now completely dead. It would need to be replaced. Someday. With the money he’d earn. That thought lifted his spirits a little. He wouldn’t have to drive around with that barely functioning piece of junk anymore; he’d buy something decent, with stereo and strong bass.
He drove from point to point. Sometimes he stayed in the car until someone approached him through the open window; sometimes they met in the parking lot; and other times he entered a building and handed over a bottle at the exit. Hour by hour, the stress diminished, replaced increasingly by fatigue.
He started tapping out a melody on the wheel, not really knowing what it was, just anything that came to mind. His brain seemed to process the soft taps into a crackling amen break that quickly formed into some full electronic melody. His head bobbed to the nonexistent song he was composing in his mind. It was fast, looped, and chaotic, buzzing and crackling in his head, almost like his broken car radio. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he'd miss the noise and skipping music when he got the new equipment.
He turned right, as directed by the navigation. The street, like all the slums, was littered with garbage and fenced in by ugly gray blocks, with every other streetlight not working, so there wasn’t much to see anyway. He slowed the car and scanned the signs for the next number. Twelve. He stopped, put two bottles in his pocket, then got out and headed straight into the alley behind the building. He stood behind a large dumpster and waited, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment and tilted his head back.
“You’re not the usual guy,” a raspy voice suddenly reached his ears, making the boy shudder and quickly focus his gaze in the direction of the sound. A bum stood before him, with another just behind. Smelly, scruffy, dressed in whatever they could find, their faces covered in sores.
“So what? Does it matter?” He asked, trying to sound as tough as he could.
“Well, what if you’re an undercover cop?” The second one immediately chimed in.
“Huh? I’m not!”
“Prove it then!”
“How? Damn it, you either take the stuff or you don’t!” He furrowed his brows and stood up straight, ready to leave.
“Alright, alright, chief, calm down.” The first one blocked his way. “So, where’s the goods?”
The lizard reached into his pocket and discreetly showed the bottles.
“What, and that’s it?! If you weren’t a cop, you’d have more!”
If it weren’t for his angelic patience, he would’ve already been in the car, driving away. Although not checking everyone on the list meant they’d probably cut his share. And he really needed that money. He sighed heavily.
“The rest is in the car.”
“Uh-huh? Show us then.”
His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head. Is there no job where you can avoid these kinds of fucks? He wanted to be done with it, so he led the pair to the car, opened the door, and pulled out a large black bag, holding it by the handle with both paws.
The bums leaned over the bag, peering inside. They exchanged a quiet glance and nodded. The boy was about to turn around and put the bag away when the two quickly grabbed handfuls of bottles from the bag and bolted. He didn’t even have time to make a sound, blink, or think. He took off after them.
They ran into one of the old buildings, slamming the door behind them. He reached the door, throwing his whole body against it. A powerful crash. The door didn’t budge. He didn’t give up. Again and again. He roared after them, pounding his paws on the door. Finally, he stepped back. He turned around and kicked a can lying on the sidewalk, watching as it rolled off somewhere into the darkness, out of reach of the streetlights. He stood there.
Only now did he remember to breathe. He took several deep breaths and ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and froze for a moment, trembling from the adrenaline. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t leave it like this. It was his first day! They’ll fire him, leaving him in debt. He doesn’t have money for this crap, so they’d kill him… and his mother too. Alright, no. Not like this. He had to think. They wouldn’t vape through all of it in five minutes; take it easy.
He turned to the building and stared at it. He hoped his brain would know what to do. It would figure something out and somehow deduce the next step. When he arrived, the window on the right at the very top was lit, and on the left in the middle. The ground floor was dark. But now, the window on the left on the ground floor was lit. They’re on the ground floor. His nostrils flared, and one of his knees began to twitch slightly. That’s even better; he could get in through the window. Break the glass and get in... With what? Re-energized, he looked around the dark street, searching for something solid enough to smash the glass. Near the dumpster where he had been standing a few minutes ago, there was a stool.
In an apartment situated on the ground floor on the left, a terrifying crash echoed. Pieces of glass shattered into tiny sparkles, scattering across the old, stained carpet—stained with gods knows what. The lizard burst into the room, clumsily tumbling through the frame. He dragged a battered wooden stool with one missing leg behind him.
"WHERE’S MY DRUGS, BITCHES?!"
***
"And then he hit him so hard the guy flew to the moon!" Digger suddenly threw an arm around the Lizard's neck, sipping beer from a bottle.
"Nah, come on, I just got the stuff back..." He laughed awkwardly, tapping his fingers on his energy drink. He had a large bandage on his eyebrow. The rest of the bruises were hidden under his hoodie, so luckily his mom would only bug him about the visible one.
Around the table, cluttered with glass and aluminum, sat a group of beastmen, listening intently to his friend’s overly emotional narration.
"Yeah! And you sliced them up like paper! That's what they say! Like scissors!" The guy mimicked scissors with his fingers, adding sound effects with his mouth.
"Well, Mr. Scisor, you barely saved you skin! You can't do stupid like that." Pete finally spoke up. His English wasn't the best, but he was still highly respected in the group.
He felt a bit embarrassed. Pete was right. His "heroics" wouldn't have been necessary if he'd been more careful from the start. He was about to apologize, but Pete continued.
"But it good to have people who fix errors quickly! It all good. The important thing is no losses." He raised his bottle towards the boy and then took a big gulp. Many others followed suit, agreeing with his opinion.
Lizard nodded to the man in thanks. Just then he felt his phone vibrate. He quickly fished it out of his hoodie pocket and looked at the screen.
"Oh, sorry guys, but I gotta scram."
"What, mommy’s worried?" Digger chuckled.
"Fuck off, dude." He smiled and gave him a playful punch on the arm before getting up to leave.
"So, if there's a job, I’ll ring ya up, Scisor?" Digger emphasized the last word, mimicking Pete's awkward pronunciation.
"Scisor" actually didn’t sound too bad as a nickname.