Extortion with a Street Smile

It suddenly came to my attention that I had the whole bar of furry patrons for an audience. With their respective drinks in their paws, Frost’s pack of werewolves had moved from their barstools or creaking table chairs to surround the pool table. No. Scratch that. They were surrounding me.

They were all wearing wolfish grins, which, in my humble opinion, werewolves rely on that expression a little too often. Oh, and there was a rather strong musk in the air.

“It’s your turn, Garland,” said Frost while Treu rested his head on his folded hands, which were resting upon his pool stick. He was already enjoying the afterglow of his near future win. “But take your time, and feel free to share your story first.”

“Okay, don’t get your tails in a bunch, guys,” I quipped.

I forewarn all of you readers that what I told those werewolves that night may be a little embellished, but, then again, so is all of what I have to say.

“As probably all of you have already guessed, the dense forests and fields of cattle manure are typically not my party scene. I was raised in an orphanage within Belfry, the industrial sector of the largest city of O’Dia, until two years ago. That was around the time I had decided to myself that mopping five levels of hardwood floors and bashing in heads of rats with the rest of the parentless lice carriers while a staff of five fat women who cackled their way through a day of sipping tea and sharing moronic gossip just wasn’t my scene, either.

“I snuck out of a window one night after lifting some cash from the head nurse’s purse and continued to practice my pick pocketing craft on the streets for a couple months. I almost got arrested and returned back to the orphanage several times due to my pension for gravitating to the wealthy Hilltop district of the city. Authorities seem to have no problem leaving a fifteen year old boy among the company of gypsies, prostitutes, and murderers on the lamp as long as it is hidden from sensitive eyes of the privileged.

“It wasn’t long before I found out that running unsavory errands for people got me more money. It also marked my ascent up the social ladder.

“Philip the Fool, a middle aged man who pretended to be suffering from a severe case of bone-twist (he actually was taking full advantage of being double jointed) by day and oversaw an underground thief guild by night, employed my errand services on a regular bases. Everyone, like those tea bag dipping hogs back at the orphanage, would gossip about the elite’s sex life, but the aristocrats would truly become undone by the amount of evidence Philip the Fool possessed in regards to their scandalous affairs and his willingness to use it for profit. Most of these inspirations of hush money came about through intercepted messages, and that is where I came in. I would swipe the letters, and Philip the Fool would provide me with a suit to deliver the extortion to their doorsteps the next day with a well dressed smile.”