Bureau of Collections || ONC2021

Intervention

Colin sat in the car engine ticking, his eyes red. The reality of his situation hitting home on the long drive. He'd found himself on the other side of the city, fingers running over the links of his watch as he gazed up at the red flickering lights of a neon sign that simply read, PUB.

He had not been much of a drinker since the kids had come along, but after all that had happened the draw to a perspiring glass of beer fresh off the tap was alluring. Why not? It may be his last.

He got out, stretching his aching limbs, jumping as trees swayed in the light breeze, the shadows dancing. The collector had said the wraith thing could be anywhere and while he was pretty sure it was his mind playing tricks on him, there were a few times on the road, he could have sworn he saw it for real.

He strode quickly across the parking lot, entering the warmth of the bar, the smell of stale booze and cigarettes permeating the place as he walked past the entry that led to the slot machines, the chimes and jingles of the drones tapping buttons drifting past as he made his way through the array of tables to the main bar, taking a seat on the end away from a few of the regulars talking quietly to themselves.

"What can I do for you?"

Colin jumped, looking up to see a young dishevelled bartender leaning over the counter eyeing him expectantly. "Uh, just a schooner, please."

"What kind?"

"Huh?"

The bartender motioned to the array of taps along the bar.

"Oh, uh, just a Mercenary."

"You okay mate, you look a bit spooked?" the bartender asked as he picked up a clean glass from a tray and flicked the wooden toggle to fill it with the cool amber liquid.

Colin gave him a weary smile, "Just one of those days."

"Don't get yourself too stuck here on your lonesome. Make sure you talk to someone." he winked as he placed the beer down in front of him along with the EFTPOS machine.

"Thanks" Colin responded simply, tapping his phone to pay before picking up his glass and taking it to a spare booth he noticed in the corner. He was in no mood for small talk with a stranger who seemed more concerned than was necessary.

He made himself comfortable, placing his phone face down on the table and he pressed the cool glass to his lips and sipped through the froth to the bitter liquid below, his muscles instantly unravelling a little of their tension as he gulped down a few thirsty mouthfuls.

Hand wiped across his lips as he sat back, unable to help but think of Millie and the girls and what they didn't know they had already lost. He fought back his distress, as he went over the checklist in his head of people he had needed to call, pretty sure he had covered all his bases. His attorney, his life insurance, his brother on the west coast and his sweet ailing mother. He had no doubt it would hit her the hardest, but he had to make sure his family would be taken care of. What dead man could ever say they had the opportunity to do that.

He just had to out run the monster until the collectors could figure this out. He just hoped they would turn up again before it did. He got the feeling if the latter occurred it would not be good for whatever happened after.

"Excuse me, are you Colin Baxter?"

Colin's hand tightened around his glass as he looked up, prickles rising on his skin as a man, tall and thin in a pristine black suit loomed over his booth. Confused, he realised as he tried to make out his features that he couldn't, they seemed to shift and change every few seconds beneath the shade of a wide brimmed fedora.