League of Losers: A Cat and His Human

Introduction An Argument in a Restaurant

"YOUNG MAN, they're going to kill you!"

I tore my gaze away from my bloodied fingers, stopped my fruitless attempts to pull out the shard of glass stuck deep into my palm, my dripping red fingernails sliding off it. My eyes lifted. The speaker was a tall and slender man in an old-fashioned dark suit with fancy golden buttons and cufflinks. Weird clothes. For some reason, they made me think of the days of Sherlock Holmes, Queen Victoria, Alice in Wonderland. All the stranger needed to complete the look of a late nineteenth-century English gentleman was a top hat and gold pocket watch. His clothes were entirely unsuited to the weather. Even in my army dress uniform, I was boiling. What was it like for him..?

In the meantime, the odd stranger repeated that phrase of his again, that they were going to kill me. Only this time, he went into detail.

"They'll knife you twice as soon as you leave the restaurant. A grievous wound to the liver. But the second thrust is worse, the one that cuts through the mesenteric artery. You will bleed out. The ambulance called by your ex-girlfriend will fail to get you to hospital in time, Andrei."

I shivered. I hadn't mentioned my name. But then I realized that it had come out a few times during the recent fight, while my girlfriend, unfortunately now ex, tried to shout sense into me and pull me away from her new boyfriend. All the same, this strange man's words made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. How could he know what was going to happen? With such precise details of future events? But the stranger obviously believed what he was saying to the very end!

He was either a madman or just brave, I didn't know which... If I were in his shoes, I wouldn't have gotten mixed up with a guy who'd just been in a bloody fight, his emotional state obviously not most receptive to advice and lectures. Nonetheless, I saw no sign of fear in the stranger's eyes. On the contrary, he emanated icy calm. He was absolutely certain that he could deal with me if he had to. To be honest, that scared me more than his creepy predictions.

He wasn't young, but was still far from old. It was tough to figure out his age — his dark hair contrasted sharply with his gray streaks and too-youthful skin without a hint of a wrinkle. His eyes stood out — black, sharp, piercing straight through me. If not for those eyes and the gray streaks in his hair, I'd have said he was thirty-five. But no, nobody that age had eyes so piercing, full of the wisdom of long life. Smooth, olive skin. Drawn face, thick brows, aristocratic nose. It wasn't just his age that was hard to figure out, but his nationality too.

Who was he? Where had he come from? He sure didn't look like a waiter or restaurant musician — I'd seen the workers' uniforms at this joint; they were nothing like this. And he was too confident, his voice too used to giving commands. Maybe the restaurant owner? The man stood patiently, awaiting my answer to his warning.

"Um... Why will they kill me?" I said, trying to argue with this strange man after the long pause. "I could call the police, and they'd come and scare off those bastards. Or I can go out through the back door and avoid any deadly knifings."

The stranger thought for a moment, then shook his head and spoke with a strange certainty in his voice:

"No, Andrei, that will not change your fate. Calling the police will only delay, not prevent, the inevitable finale. As will an escape through the restaurant's back door. In that case, the killer will simply ambush you outside your apartment building. Karina has already reported your address to your foe's vassals."

I got upset. I recalled with crystal clarity that nobody involved in the recent fight had spoken my ex-girlfriend's name aloud. And what was that strange word, 'vassals'? Not 'lackeys,' 'stooges' or 'thugs' as any modern person might say. The half-forgotten word 'vassals' smelled like musty tomes.