wrong time wrong place | [rade]

It hadn’t been the best day. Sebastian had only managed one meal and that had been hours ago. Rat meat wasn’t the most filling food and though it was better than nothing, he was still starving. Pretty soon he’d have to go to one of the canneries to see if any of the busted containers in the dumpsters out back had any food stuck to them. He crouched down in the alleyway and cracked his knuckles. Things had been so much easier when he had a gang. When they’d lived off the land and hopped the fence to hunt every now and then. But that was neither here nor there. He missed their hideout.

Most of all he missed her.

But Sebastian was nothing if not resilient. Like the phoenix of legend, he would rise from his own ashes and be born anew. He was the king of the streets. No one could take that from him. Of course, it’d be harder for them to do that if he had better weapons. He sighed, looking at his knife. It wasn’t a proper blade with a nice serrated edge or a real handle. It was a shard of glass with duct tape wrapped around one side so he wouldn’t cut himself.

At least he was covered in lean muscle. He spent every free moment he had on working out, whether it was push-ups and sit-ups by himself on the outskirts of the district, or lifting trashcans over his head. He’d learned long ago that the strongest leads.

At long last he heard footsteps. He’d been hoping someone would use this shortcut, and his mark looked like a real winner. Fancy pants, a shiny watch, even a real metal lighter. This would be good. Sebastian stepped out from the shadows, tapping his weapon to the long white scar that ran down his eye. He wasn’t wearing much. A pair of jeans with more holes in them than denim and a pair of ratty shoes. He’d decided a long time ago that he was allergic to shirts, and it wasn’t like any of the homeless girls he ran with now and then complained.

Though none of them were her.

Now  all he needed to do was threaten the guy. Stuffed shirt as he was, he’d probably piss himself. That was okay. It wasn’t like Sebastian was planning on taking his pants. But what to say?

You picked the wrong alleyway buddy. Meh, too nice.

Your money or your life? Nah, that sounded too fancy.

Here comes the pain train? No, too corny.

Then it dawned on him. The greatest combination of the English lexicon that was certain to work.

“Hey shitbird, give me your watch or I’ll stab you.”

The grin on his face stretched from ear to ear as he turned his homemade shank over in his hands.

Now that he got a better look at his mark, Sebastian thought the guy looked a little drunk. Personally, he’d never seen the point in alcohol. If your senses were numbed, it just let made your reaction time slower. Made you susceptible to well, things like getting mugged. He chose to ignore the fact that he couldn’t afford a drink, even if he wanted one and focused on the watch. It would fetch a pretty price at the black market. Maybe enough to keep him fed for a couple days. Maybe he could even afford a new pair of jeans. Whoever this dude was, he was doing well for himself. Maybe he was a factory manager?

“You look like a reasonable guy,” the soon to be stabbed shitbird responded. “Wouldn’t you rather have cash?”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows in confusion. Am I being bamboozled?

On the one hand, he knew he was an intimidating specimen. On the other hand, people generally weren’t this lax when he held them up. Granted, he hadn’t held up a whole lot of people, but still. In any case, he knew he could take one inebriated beanpole with his hands tied behind his back if this was a trap of some kind. 

Sebastian lowered the knife and held out his other hand, motioning with his fingers for fancy pants to hand the wallet over. He snatched it and rifled through it, keeping one eye on the guy in case he tried to bolt. It didn’t take very long as it was empty. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Did this guy think he was a comedian? A wise guy? Sebastian bristled, tossing the wallet at the dude's chest and bringing the shank back up.

“You pull another fast one and we’re going to find out what the color of your insides are. Together. The watch. Now."

One summer, Sebastian had made the mistake of walking into a cloud of gnats. They’d buzzed around his head, crawled on his face, into his ears, and he’d swallowed one. It had been annoying as all hell. Kind of like this attempted mugging. Beanpole was the cloud of gnats, and God help him, Sebastian was about to swat him. He stared at the hand that the other guy held up and wondered how long it would take him to just cut the hand off and take the watch.

Then the dude threw up a little in the snow and Sebastian had to resist the urge to facepalm. This whole thing was a waste of time, and if he didn’t get back to the rundown warehouse he was sleeping in soon, he was going to catch a cold. It was a metaphor, the guy mumbled, locking eyes with him. Sebastian appreciated the attempt at smart-assery, as not a lot of people were smart enough to even know what a metaphor was in his experience. But then the drunk offered him another metaphor and a job. A job, of all things.  

Consider his interest piqued.

"You look like a smart guy. Sebastian replied.He flipped the knife down, facing it away from the man. He tended to take what he wanted. But the night was dark and full of terrors and pretty fuckin cold to boot. Not to mention steady food sounded good. His body betrayed him as his stomach growled. More money? Steady money? If this guy was legit, then with steady money and food, Sebastian could claw his way to the top, maybe even start messing with the black market. “If you’re trying to proposition me, this ain’t the red light district and I ain’t no whore.” He raised an eyebrow in false anger before smiling widely.

“Very funny. Red. Not a mystery. Ha!” Sebastian laughed, loud and deep, clapping beanpole on his shoulder hard and leaning in conspiratorially, ignoring the guy’s breath. “Okay, let’s say I’m interested in what you have to say. So what, you need someone stabbed? Name the target. Guy? Girl?” Sebastian paused.  “I don’t stab kids though. Man’s gotta have some rules right?" There was a beat of silence as he turned his sales pitch over in his head.  “Although, those rules are negotiable if the kids a dick.”

Sebastian glanced at the small puddle of vomit in dismay.

“Then again, you seem more like the kind of person that gets stabbed.” Yeah, gang boss material this guy was not. But to offer him a job, well the average citizen wasn’t in the habit of doing that, which meant this guy had to be something else. There was always the chance that he was just in a panic and didn't really have a job for him, but if that was the case, it would be simple enough to re-introduce him to the murder-knife.  “You need someone to walk you home? In the market for a bodyguard?” Sebastian grinned, clapping the guy on the back.


“I’m Sebastian.” He said bluntly.  “You got a name? Speak up, I don’t have all night."

Benedict. Like the fancy eggs? Sebastian thought he remembered seeing that name in an old tattered cookbook in the group home when he was a kid. Good name for breakfast. Terrible name for a guy. Sebastian’s stomach growled again, but he ignored it. He gripped his hand hard as they shook. Bodyguard.

Yeah, Sebastian could see the appeal. Beanpole like benedict was sure to have enemies. Seemed like the kind of guy that mouthed off to the wrong people, maybe borrowed money from loan sharks. It was just a guess, but Sebastian thought he was usually pretty good at reading people.

He could see it now, Benedict eating at one of the few higher end restaurants in the district, a girl on each arm, and Sebastian standing behind them, glaring balefully at anyone who so much as breathed in their direction while gnawing on a turkey leg. The good life. He’d always dreamed of that. Made plans for it with…with…

Sebastian banished those thoughts as Benny boy made a crack about his clothes. Or rather, the lack thereof. Saying that they could meet up at noon the following day and figure out exactly what he’d be paying for. Sebastian nodded, made sense. Let eggman sleep off his hangover. The other guys started to leave and Sebastian moved to block him with another smile.

“Sounds like a plan, but Benny my boy, “I’m gonna need, whatchacallit. Collateral.” A down payment. Just a little insurance. “A guarantee that you come back tomorrow. Like say, the watch? Or hey, I’d  even take the jacket.” Granted, it probably wouldn’t fit him, but if Benedict had a pole up his ass about the watch, he wasn’t going to push the issue, not yet anyway.

“Whaddya say boss man?”