Underground Pirates

Making and Taking Money

Sarin sat amongst his blankets, staring at the bent rebar-sword in the center of the floor of the tent. His arm in a makeshift sling provided by Martha, a doubled strap of cloth tied around his shoulder to keep his arm from hanging limply, he had not slept at all, despite renting a room, really nothing more than a collection of pup tents in one of the cleaner, quieter corners of the island that housed the Black Bazaar.

Clacks stirred from the other side of the tent, "Did you sleep at all? He asked, balling his fists and rubbing his eyes.

"No, I never realized how loudly you snored," Sarin replied with a weak smile. "I couldn't get comfortable." He tried to raise his restrained arm, grimacing at the pain the action brought. "Would you believe it hurts more now?"

Clacks pulled his blankets off and rubbed the stub below the knee of his left leg.

"Sorry old friend," Sarin said, screwing his face up. "Sometimes I open my mouth before I think about what I'm going to say."

"I know, you've been doing it for the five years I've known you."

"And what a time it's been." Sarin shifted his gaze back to the, "but I fear I may have screwed up a little more than my mouth can fix this time."

"That? I told you last night, Smith'll fix it fine, no worries."

"I'm not talking about the sword. He'll be back."

"Yeah, but he's not a bright one, you know that. He picked was picking on Martha. If it hadn't been you that defended her, it would have been someone else."

"Yeah, but still."

"That reminds me," Clacks said as he pulled on his prosthetic leg, his hand lingering on the hole in the plastic sleeve. He caught himself and then reached for his coat, pulling a filthy wad of cash from one of its interior pockets. He began to count the money into two piles, and then handed one of them to Sarin.

"What's this?"

"Your take from the fight yesterday."

"You were taking bets?"

"You would have."

"You're right," Sarin said as he counted the money. "Twenty dollars, not bad for this crowd. What were the odds you were giving?"

"Four to one."

"Against me?"

"Did you see that guy? Of course."

Sarin shuddered, remember the feeling of Meat's left hand connecting with him. "Guess I would have too," he said with another weak smile. "Come on," he stifled a yawn, trying to rise. It took him a minute, but after turning onto his knees, he was finally able to stand, and then let out a whimper as he realized he still needed to fold up his blankets.

"Let me help you with those," Clacks said as he crossed the room, quickly packing the covers into Sarin's pack.

"Thanks, let's go see a man about your leg." Sarin had to lean over to exit the tent, but as he pushed the flap open with his good arm, he bumped into something. "Uh, hello?"

"The man is here to see you about a leg," said a tall dark skinned man, his bulging arms sticking out from beneath the grey tank top he wore.

"Uh, Clacks?" Sarin said, taking a step back into the tent.

"Hey Tony, Martha send you?"

"Martha send you," the large man repeated before adding, "Yup," said the man, "although I'm not accustom to making house calls, but I owed Martha a favor, and she felt she owed you one too, so I guess we're all square now. What can I do for you?"