A Favor

“Sorry about the van, Avi, this should cover it.” Tiny slowly paced through the Cannery, obviously haggling with Avi. Kit happened to glance over as Tiny pulled out his wallet. Her eyes widened as she spotted what looked like a golden guitar pick in his hand.

“Holy frag!” she said, coming closer to get a better look. Tiny ended the comm call. “Hey, is that a gold credstick?” Kit asked, agog.

Tiny paused in the act of putting it back into his wallet. “Yes,” he said, looking at his credstick.

“Damn, man! If that thing’s full, remind me to bring you along on my next gear run!” Kit said.

Tiny frowned and thought for a time. He smelled a little too much like that Löbrau whiskey for this time of day. “How much do you need?”

“Ah, no… I – I was kidding, man,” Kit said with a weak laugh.

“You look like you need money,” Tiny said in a quiet rumble.

Kit peered at him, uncertain – was that a joke or an insult? – then closed her eyes with a grimace. “Well… uh… Yeah, I guess I do,” she finished quietly.

“How much do you need?” he asked, a touch of a slur now noticeable in his cumbersome Or’zet/Spanish accent. Kit took a big breath and let it out. “I dunno… like, a thousand?” she said, wincing slightly and blushing furiously.

Tiny nodded and motioned for her commlink. She held it out and he transferred the money. “There,” he said, putting the credstick away. “Now you owe me a favor.”

“Thanks,” Kit said hurriedly. “I’ll pay you back right away, I promise.”

Tiny nodded and began making his way back to his makeshift quarters, leaning slightly to one side.

The world around Tiny span viciously. Gravity was his enemy and clawed at him frantically, dragging him further and further to the floor. He barely made it to his makeshift bunk by the time it nearly had him pinned to the cold concrete floor of The Cannery. With considerable effort he hauled himself off his hands and knees and made it, flopping onto the metal framed bed with a resounding thump – it protested loudly with an audible metallic crack.

It had been a bad week and Tiny had been hitting the bottle pretty hard. Fortunately his goggles would hide his bloodshot eyes and most wouldn’t be tall enough to smell the Lobrau whiskey’s cheap stench on his breath. They had a job less than 8hrs away and he wondered if he’d be sober for it. As if to punctuate the the thought his guts made a full reverse. Tiny didn’t care as he rolled to the side and deposited his insides onto the concrete with a wet sloshy splat.

Closing his eyes, the darkness took him quickly and horrific nightmares of Mitch’s ghost tormented him relentlessly.

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