Orange Crush

Chapter 3 - It's On Again

***JOSH***

I'm not sure exactly how long it's supposed to take for the snakes to get to Alex. And yet, somehow, I sense it when they arrive, I think. Maybe Jordan has a way of homing in on their fellow serpents of assorted colors? I'd hope so, given how much they're worth in this screwed-up magically capitalist world.

I hate assigning worth to any living thing, really, but here I've got no choice.

My boss, Phil, interrupts my thoughts by coming back into the office. In his four or five minutes outside, he's picked up a new snake that's now riding his left arm. Third-highest in value on the official Purgatorian bestiary, it's a Pink Diamondfang, capable of biting anything with extreme ease. Including stone, bone, metal...and of course actual diamonds, if it so wished. Actually, no, he. So Jordan tells me. And they do not like him. Neither does Henry, Phil's faithful Green Battery, who gives him a nasty stink-eye from Phil's right arm. Of course, the second the Diamondfang lifts his head, Henry lowers his. He knows that this new guy, pretty though he is, could bite him in half at a moment's notice and he wouldn't even feel it until it was too late.

"I think Henry feels like he's about to be replaced," I tell Phil. Not that he needs to hear it from me - after all, Henry's just as capable of putting thoughts into his man's brain as Jordan can for mine - but maybe he could do with an outside opinion.

"Replaced? Never." Phil tweaks his glasses, adjusting his transparent, circular frames. If Harry Potter were a child of this decade instead of the 90s, that'd probably be the style of spex he wore. "I've been looking for a Diamondfang my entire time here, so now I've got both flavors of strength I need."

I nod once. "No more XTS refusing to take you seriously, huh?"

"XTS, or anyone else." Phil flexes his arms. He's not devoid of muscle, he just doesn't have a lot of it. That's probably why he hired me - he needed someone capable of bouncing and punching without serpentine assistance if need be. Often, that need has been. Usually when a certain white South African tries to get handsy on my ass. No, it's not Elon Musk, obviously. You should hear Mr. Musk's horror stories about this guy too. This guy, he's here for trying to bump his head getting into a Tesla enough times to injure himself and hopefully start an international class-action suit in The Hague. Or something. Which...I mean, have you seen how low to the ground some of those Teslas are? My dad and I bumped our heads trying to get into one in a showroom, back when Tesla still had showrooms. I'm not unconvinced, though, that Musk himself hacked this guy's car to lock it in Insane Mode until it crashed on the motorway outside Durban. The resulting pileup was South Africa's biggest in twenty-five years, and I'm sure it's earned someone a few millennia of time here someday.

"Do I gotta ask for time off?" Even though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

Phil shakes his head. "I believe in you, man. Even if you're stuck here like me and can't help me out...but maybe me letting you go will help me out?"

"Remind me when I come back and start a Marxist revolution," I say. "Gotta elevate all the proletariat, am I right?"

"Why the hell'd you say that in a French accent?"

"'Cause it sounds fucking French, that's why."

I reach out and shake Phil's hand. "It's been a pleasure, my man."

"Glad you think so, but I'm not happy you're leaving." He pets both his snakes, one after the other. "Who can I have fill in for you on such short notice?"

"Get two of your biggest people."

"Sure, fine. Which ones?"

"You'll think of something. You're a smart-ass smartass."