The work was easy. Pick up message or package from one of the bosses and deliver it to whatever address and contact they specified. Any trained monkey could do it. Even the spirit watching was a piece of cake. I quickly learned how to tell the spirit animals from normal ones. Some were easier than others, like how many times are you going to see a minotaur looking beast browsing the aisles of a ladies lingerie store? Some were harder to spot, namely the ones who took the form of domesticated animals or the usual city dwelling birds, but I eventually learned to distinguish them at first glance. When I was released from the group home, my boss gave me a room in his building, a place to stay while I continued to save up money to get a place I could share with Trinity once she was released. My boss was a nice enough guy, even for a criminal, and he never seemed to mind teaching me every angle of the business. By the time Trinity was released I’d been working for him for years and had gained his trust more so than any of his other operatives. I was still the low man on the totem pole, but I had at least made my way up from errand boy to collector. When anyone owed money to either my boss or his bosses, I was the man sent to collect on the debts. Not to toot my own horn, but my boyish good looks and silky smooth charm made me the best man for the job. Very rarely did I have to get physical with anyone, or even go so far as to threaten them. I would simply walk in, have a polite conversation explaining the dilemma, and walk out with the money owed. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved. On the rare occasions where I would need a bit of muscle to back up my request for payment, I didn’t have to call anyone to fill the role. Most customers didn’t expect me to be able to play both the talker and enforcer roles needed for debt collection, but that was my ace in the hole. My boss had trained me well, teaching me to fight his other operatives from the beginning. Even as a kid I could stand my ground against hardened fighters, using my lean build and swift movements in my favor. Over the years I was taught enough of every fighting style to get by through intense training sessions that I will detail here at some later date. After the fight training, my boss felt it was time to begin my weapon instruction. Living in the time of automatic weapons I figured this would be my first lesson, but my boss wasn’t your typical teacher. The first weapon he placed in my hand was a wooden sword. I know I looked at him like he’d gone mad, but he assured me that everyone would expect to see a firearm on my person, to show them a blade would leave them with more fear not to mention more questions. And so I learned to use the wooden practice sword, standing alone in a room shadow fighting myself for hours on end, until one day he presented me with a katana. He said I was ready to have a blade of my own. Still I wasn’t too keen on the idea of carrying around a sword instead of a gun, but I figured the fire power would come later. I practiced with the katana for months, long enough for the blade to become an extension of my arm. It got to the point where I could swing it for hours on end without feeling any of the exertion that should come with the activity. Once the boss was convinced that I could defend myself, his product, and his money; I was allowed to carry the blade along on my errands. That very same blade now goes with me each and every time I collect a debt. Only a very small handful of customers have ever caused me to draw it, and those now run their businesses with one less finger. There had been no need to take an entire hand, or to kill them, dead men pay no bill as they say and any man can work with a missing pinky. If they cross me again they know the other pinky will disappear as well.
750 words, Katana
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