A muscular man in a worn leather jacket stepped forward, stopping just short of the rusty barbed wire fence. His sharp eyes scanned Martin before he spoke.
"I'm Bruce. I work for Boss Vincent."
Martin, still trying to piece together the details of his predecessor's debts, felt a twinge of unease. He already knew why the man was here.
"What's up?" he asked casually, though his body tensed.
Bruce rested his hands on the old wire mesh. "Jack Davis skipped town, huh? The boss wants you to remember that debts don't disappear just because someone runs. The first installment's due next week. Don't forget."
Martin exhaled slowly. That debt wasn't even his—it belonged to the previous Martin Davis. But explaining reincarnation to a loan shark's goon didn't seem like a great plan.
"It's not overdue yet," Martin replied, keeping his tone neutral.
Bruce grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "Just a friendly reminder. Be ready." He pulled back his jacket slightly, just enough for Martin to glimpse the pistol nestled under his arm. "Don't worry, though. The Beast House is full of civilized folks. Boss Vincent always tells us to respect the law."
Martin's first instinct was to run—but where? With no money, no connections, and an injured leg, running was pointless. He needed a different approach.
"Hey," Martin said, feigning curiosity, "do gigolos at the Beast House make good money?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Depends. You get the right customers, you can walk away with a fat stack of tips every night." He gave Martin an appraising look, then nodded approvingly. "You've got the looks for it. Crazy middle-aged women eat guys like you up. You ever need cash fast, you know where to go."
Martin chuckled but didn't commit.
Bruce got into his truck and drove off, leaving Martin standing in the sun, deep in thought.
Nearby, in the Carter family's yard, ten-year-old Hall was still digging a hole with impressive dedication.
Martin shook his head and turned his focus to his real problem—money.
His former employer, Max, still owed him two weeks' wages. If he could collect, it might be enough to last a while. The problem was that Max's office was across town, and Martin's leg still wasn't in great shape. Walking all the way there wasn't an option.
The bus cost fifty cents each way.
Martin checked his wallet—completely empty. The only thing inside was air and despair. He searched the house but only managed to scrounge up a single 25-cent coin.
That wasn't enough.
His gaze shifted toward the Carter house. Elena's father, Scott, used to run a grocery store that also dealt in stolen goods and junk. If Martin could find something to sell…
His eyes landed on the old barbed wire fence between their properties.
"…Can I sell the Carter family's own fence back to Scott?"
It wasn't technically stealing if it was already falling apart.
Martin grabbed an old pair of pliers from the drawer, cut a section of the rusted wire, and rolled it up.
Before he could leave, a loud thud came from the Carter yard, followed by a scream.
Martin hurried over.
Harris was on the ground, clutching his arm, his face twisted in pain. Beside him, a bicycle lay on its side next to a freshly dug hole.
Hall, who had set the trap, took a cautious step back, looking guilty. "I was just messing around! I didn't think he'd actually fall in!"
Harris groaned. "My arm—damn it—there's a 90% chance it's broken."
Martin took a closer look. Yep. Definitely broken.
"We should take you to Dr. Bill," Martin said.
Harris's face turned pale with terror. "Bill's a vet! If I go to him, there's a 100% chance I'll end up disabled!"
"The Carter family would qualify for another disability check," Martin pointed out dryly.
Elena arrived moments later, having borrowed a car from a friend. She didn't even bother changing out of her part-time job uniform—a ridiculous teddy bear mascot costume.
Seeing Harris, she pulled out her wallet and counted the bills. Two twenties, a couple of fives, and some ones. "Okay, okay, don't panic. We'll find a way. We always find a way."
Martin, who had just spent a week eating free meals at her expense, decided it was time to do something.
"Give me the car keys," he said.
Elena handed them over without thinking.
Martin turned to leave, but Lily, Elena's fourteen-year-old sister, ran up and shoved an old flip phone into his hands.
"Take this," she said. "If you can't pay back the money, at least call Elena before you get yourself killed."
Then, with a completely serious expression, she extended her middle finger.
Martin smirked, shoved the phone into his pocket, and got into the car.
---
Martin arrived at Max's office after a rough half-hour drive through Atlanta's pothole-riddled streets. The place was a run-down four-story building, with faded paint and a sagging sign that read Max Repair Services.
Inside, a burly Latino man met him at the door. "What do you need?"
"I work for Max. I'm here about my job."
A voice called from inside. "Martin? Come in."
Martin stepped into the office and took in the scene.
There were teddy bears everywhere—on the shelves, the desk, even the windowsill. It was like a shrine to stuffed animals.
Two framed family photos sat on the desk, both featuring a happy-looking couple and two kids, all posing with an oversized teddy bear.
But Martin noticed something else.
A fine dusting of white powder was scattered across the wooden surface near Max's paperwork.
Max himself, a middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion, kept rubbing his nose. His bloodshot eyes and barely concealed sniffles told Martin everything he needed to know.
Cocaine.
Martin had seen this before. People like Max weren't dangerous, per se, but they were often unpredictable.
Max grinned. "Good to see you up and moving. How's the leg?"
Martin shrugged. "Still hurts."
Max nodded sympathetically. "You're here for your paycheck, right? I get it."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a check, sliding it across the desk.
Martin took a look.
It wasn't enough to cover the full amount owed.
"Max," Martin said slowly, "this isn't the full two weeks' pay."
Max rubbed his nose again. "I had to deduct some for medical leave."
Martin exhaled through his nose. "Medical leave? I got hurt on your job."
Max shrugged. "Life's tough."
Martin stared at him for a long moment. Then he reached over, grabbed one of the smaller teddy bears from the desk, and slowly squeezed it.
Max's eye twitched.
Martin squeezed harder.
"You like teddy bears, huh, Max?"
"…Yeah?"
Martin raised an eyebrow. "What would your kids think if something happened to one of them?"
Max's face paled slightly. "You wouldn't—"
Martin squeezed again. "It'd be a real shame if Mr. Snuggles had an accident."
Max scrambled for his checkbook. "Fine! I'll give you the rest!"
Martin watched as Max hurriedly wrote another check.
When it was done, Martin took both checks, pocketed them, and smiled.
"Pleasure doing business."
And with that, he walked out.