View source for The Debt of Rhys ap Cadwgan

"Rhys ap Cadwgan?" The voice had a husky imperfectness to it; to his ears, it was the voice of a man who commanded respect despite offering nothing but disrespect in turn. Rhys shifted his gaze across the room, looking for a convenient place to run, but the diner only had the one exit, and this man was blocking it.

"That is my name," Rhys finally confirmed, staring into his half finished plate of scrambled eggs.

"I'm a representative of a certain interest. We've been trying to locate you over some things that we believe are, shall we say, outstanding between us." That accent... Halfway between elvish and Sicilian?

"If it's about that debt..."

"Oh, Rhys, I do dislike getting right to the chase like that. But in this case, I suppose we can't dance around it for too long." He was an old looking elf - they didn't generally seem to age, unless they had been around since the Old World - wearing the kind of expensive suit that one wouldn't guess was expensive. It was the kind one would wear to not draw attention, while at the same time, making people think one was some executive somewhere. The "don't mess with me" look.

"I can't pay," Rhys said, focusing intensely on his plate.

"Oh, I'm well aware. Your answer hasn't changed since the last three times my guys have met you. But we're through asking that question." His words reached Rhys's nostrils as a scent of old tobacco. "I got a different question for you, though. How's your family been lately? Been in touch?"

"The friendly act doesn't suit you."

"Oh, you wound me. And we've only met for a few seconds!" He took a seat in the bar stool next to Rhys, entering his peripheral vision as a mass of navy blue fabric, with a hint of gold jewelry. "Seriously, though. How's the wife? Talked to her lately? I imagine it's been a while, if you've been traveling this far."

"Have you done something to Catrin?" Rhys's tone remained neutral, but his focused glare over the scrambled eggs could have cooked them further.

"Oh, no, not yet. That doesn't carry enough value. See, there was this study, not too long ago. Some humanitarian group. Funny word, that, humanitarian. Like there ain't any sentients besides humans. Anyway... they were trying to figure out the value of life. A living being." He took a slow, inward breath for emphasis, sucking a bit of the tobacco smell back in with it. "Fifty grand. Fifty grand and that's it."

Rhys concealed his shaking hands by folding them in his lap beneath the bar. One corner of his eggs began to darken imperceptibly, along the thin, filmy crust on the edge of the plate.

The suit continued. "You ask me, that's a damn pittance. Fifty grand? That don't even begin to compensate for a wife's love. A mother's support. A beacon of the community. She'd earn that much in a couple years of regular work, maybe, but that doesn't make her worth that little, as a unit."

"Get to the damn point."

The man in the suit made a sigh as if he had just rolled his eyes. "I guess the gentle approach ain't for you."

"Not when it comes with hooks, barbs, and the odd knife or two."

"It's been long enough since we told you to pay up, and you won't pay up. My last three guys - you remember them, yeah? - they tell me you wouldn't pay them either. Meanwhile they're racking up expenses trying to chase you down, travel tickets, meals, kinda stuff you do on stake out, medical expenses for broken noses--"

"I didn't hit any of them! Not a single one!"

"Well, I wasn't about to blame you for those, but if you're so quick to deny it, that's gonna get itemized too." The click and scratch of a retractable pen on a notepad made Rhys cringe a bit. The sound of the page being torn from its spiral binding made him grit his teeth so hard it hurt. "That, plus the interest? Safe to say you're long past the point where fifty grand would do jack shit."

He was losing control - the eggs in front of him were now steaming, despite having been on the plate in front of him for an hour, and the cup of coffee next to it was starting to bubble a bit. "So you won't stop chasing me, and you're billing for it too."

"You managed to piss away over a million dollars of my organization's money, to say nothing of the damages you caused to our business. Damages that, I dare say, you're liable to cause to this diner as well."

The scrambled eggs exploded in a single, messy pop.

"See. What'd I tell ya."

"A _million_?!" Rhys finally turned in his stool to face the grizzled elf in the suit. As soon as he saw the twisted grin on his face, with the unlit cigar clenched in his lips, he wished he hadn't looked. In his outstretched hand was the page from his notepad, listing at least 20 different petty grievances, and their associated - inflated - monetary value. Rhys couldn't parse the total amount, but it was definitely at least seven digits long.

"No single life is gonna cover that. Now, normally my belief is that if you break my shit, I break your shit and that makes us even." He brushed the splattered bits of egg off his lapel. "But breaking shit ain't gonna fix it. My guys need our money back, and we gotta turn a profit somewhere else. Seeing as _you_ managed to burn down that parlor... that's a whole revenue source I can't do a damn thing with, because of you."

"I didn't mean to burn it down!"

"Sure you didn't. Just like you didn't mean to get egg on my face just now. But see, I know you now. You lose it. Your rage gets downright tangible. You lose some dough at my poker table and you're liable to let some sparks fly." He clenched both his fists in front of Rhys's face, then spread his fingers wide open. "Boom. Shit's on fire."

"I can't afford to pay you a million!"

"Then work with me here! I need new revenue, and you need us off your back."

Rhys's heart was pounding. The cup of coffee next to him was at risk of boiling over. The complimentary match book on the bar started to shake a bit. The light bulb over the bar seemed like it was getting just a little bit brighter. Rhys stood up in a flash and stumbled towards the door, giving it a great, desperate shove out of his way. It didn't budge. He rattled the door in its frame for a while. It had just been open, minutes ago, it couldn't be locked now!

"Oh, that? I knew you'd try to run. You always fucking run." The well dressed elf held up a finger and whirled it in circles, as if to spin an imaginary set of keys around it. A second later, there was a set of keys spinning on it, changing between every color in the rainbow, not making a jingling sound, but an ethereal, almost musical sound. "That's why I Sealed the door behind me on the way in. You ain't getting out unless I let you." He clenched that hand into a fist, turning the prismatic key ring into magical dust.

"Open the door! Open it, right now!" Rhys screamed, kicking the glass in the door to no avail.

"And I know why you wanna run. It ain't the debt you're so concerned about. You want out because, if you're stuck in here with me, you might very well burn this place down. With me in it. And since the door ain't gonna open without my say so, you won't be spared the fire either." The way the man's whole demeanor remained so calm and gentle terrified Rhys as much as the threat of inferno around him.

"You can't fucking do this!"

"I can, and do, Rhys. All the fucking time. They all see the light one way or another."

The glass in the door was beginning to deform. The aluminum handle across it was starting to turn red. There was a pervasive smell of melting vinyl. "OPEN THE DOOR!"

"Gimme something, Rhys! Or this is just gonna keep happening!"

"I'll give you anything!" His voice was starting to crack. The matchbook on the counter started to smolder on its own.

"What have you got to give?" He casually plucked the cigar from his lips and held it to the matchbook.

"My house! My family! Whatever you need! Just open the door!!"

"You're sure about that? Don't want you to back out, now..." He idly checked his wrist watch, wholly unconcerned for the impending blaze around him. A loaf of bread on a nearby counter was starting to turn black; the smoke it gave off finally reached the sprinkler system in the ceiling. Alarm bells began ringing through the entire room, but the man in the suit remained unfazed.

"Yes! Yes, I'm sure! Whatever you ask!" The sprinkler system triggered at last, drenching Rhys where he stood, but strangely, not the man in the suit. Rhys finally turned away from the door to look at him; the spray of water from the ceiling was bending around him, soaking the floor and bar, and overflowing the cup of coffee, but never touching him or his suit.

"All I needed to hear, Rhys, my friend." He stood up and clapped a hand on Rhys's wet shoulder. "Head on home, I'll come with you later to discuss the terms. Just don't leave town, alright? Because you know by now, that ain't gonna pan out for you." With this, the diner door sprang open on its own, letting the clouds of steam - and Rhys - escape outside.

Rhys stumbled backwards down the stoop from the diner entrance and nearly fell over. He scanned the parking lot. There were no cars. There was no sign anybody was even in the diner with them. And now, even his menacing debt collector was nowhere to be found. It was mid afternoon, almost evening. He hungered like he'd missed two straight meals, but he didn't want to eat anything now.

"Catrin... Nestor... father Cadwgan... I fear I haven't just made a terrible mistake..."