Author's Note: This story will most likely contain lots of violence, everything associated with violence, coarse language, and suggestive themes. I suggest only adults users (+18) read this. The goal is to create a unique story and writing style based on two things; crime & justice, wants/addictions & friendship. The story will portray things that we can be ignorant to by using, for example, dogs. Critical thinking may be need to decipher some stuff, since I've hidden things within other meanings and I've left a lot of stuff unclear on purpose.

Author's Disclaimers: This is my first story and my English might not be up to par. I was barely able to keep my head above water in that class since kindergarten. If you find some kind of error, something I can improve on, or other construction criticism, I'll happily take your advice.

Butch slowly walked over to him. He didn't need to race over there so quickly. It was much more intimidating showing that he had the patience to kill the mutt in front of him. Of course, by now the dog in front of him was on his back, shaking form time to time while he tried to hold back his tears. He failed...miserably. Butch clanged his claws on the ground as he moved forward, which made his prey burst into an uncontrollable sob. Butch finally made it to his destination, the sobbing dog. He acts like I'm gonna kill him.

"Please don't kill me!", the dog cried out.

Butch sighed. These dogs don't seem to even understand how this business works. If Butch killed him now, he obviously wouldn't get his money. Well...sort of his money; his cut anyway.

"Why should I let you live? You were late on your payments.", Butch growled. He moved his claw-infested paw up from the desperate dog's stomach to his throat, giving him a couple of superficial scratch. That should help get the point across.

"I know of a job! Tonight! Please, I'll get all of the money and more! I swear! Please, just one more day!", the bleeding dog pleaded.

"I dunno, I still have to hurt you bad.", Butch said intimidatingly, "Maybe I'll break a hind leg or-"

"No please! One more day! Honest to God!", the pitiful dog begged.

"Well...If I break you, you might not be able to do that job. Hmm... You got one day Bear and I mean one day!", Butch said.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You don't-", Bear said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up and get out of here.", Butch said, slightly annoyed. "And if you don't show up with the money tomorrow you're as good as a dead dog."

Bear scampered out of the alleyway as fast as he could, obviously thankful that he wasn't limping his way out of there. Butch went back to worrying about his own job. If Bear doesn't repay the promised amount, Butch won't get his cut. Worse, his boss wouldn't get his money. It could get even worse if Butch's boss finds out that he didn't hurt Bear as much as Butch should have. I should have at least broke his nose.

Butch darted out of the alley. This wasn't the ideal place to be intimidating a dog, especially when the downtown area was well protected by the cops. Butch quickly fluffed the thought off as he got mixed up with the crowds walking down the semi-busy streets. He made his way down the street, with no obvious direction or destination. He was in deep thought about dinner, until he was interrupt by an army of water drops against his fur coat. Rain. Butch sighed. He started to look for some kind of shelter. A bar, a restaurant, an abandon building, even a bus stop. The rain intensified. Well, it can get a lot worse than this. Butch saw it, a small pizza place. Beats nothin'. He went for it, quickly getting inside.

Butch was immediately hit by a million different smells. He didn't wait to be seated, instead he just trotted over to to the bar and took a seat. Don't get drunk right now...not while you have work to do. Butch cringed at his own thought, but his thought was right. He can't be staggering down the streets, let alone be caught by the boss. His boss had a strict fitness policy. No alcohol, nicotine, or other drugs. He wanted his dogs in the best shape possible, most likely to keep his enemies at bay.

"What'll you have?", the bartender said, breaking Butch's train of thought.

"Just a pop.", Butch spat out painfully.

"Coke?", the bartender questioned.

"Yeah.", Butch replied.

The bartender was quick with the pop, delivering a refreshingly cold bottle of Coca-Cola. Butch drunk it at a normal pace, which wasn't too greedily. He just wanted somewhere to stay without getting kicked out for loitering. He looked up to see if the Lions game was on, but it was Saturday, not Sunday. He sighed once again. At least the rain stopped. Butch payed for his drink and left.

Outside the air was soggy. It hadn't rained much, but there was a lot of water on the roads. Butch shook his head. I need to get to the meeting and then hit the sack. Butch continued down the street, heading toward his meeting. He wasn't too thrilled about the meeting, rather he was heading that way because his car was there.

Butch made some progress down the street, but got lost in thought after he looked down at one of the puddles. He saw his reflection. He was large, at least a hundred pounds of death. To the eye he looked like a German Shepard Dog, although he was once told he had a tad bit of another breed. It didn't matter to him, he looked like a GSD, acted like a GSD, and smelled like a GSD. For all he cared, he was 100% GSD.

Butch caught himself. He needed to keep moving. Butch looked over his back, looking for any wannabe assailants or his boss. It started to rain again, this time a lot heavier. Can't get much worse now. He got near the meeting spot, but his boss was there. I guess it can.

"Shit.", Butch muttered under his breath.

Butch's boss must have spotted him, since he was heading his way. Butch swore some more before he made a break for it. He ran down some unfamiliar streets, zigzagging around the place.

"Butch!", a sound rung out, most likely belonging to Butch's Boss.

Butch stopped and looked around, panting for air. It was getting dark and he could hide somewhere, till the darkness could conceal his escape. Butch began running again, until he found it. A small, run downed bar called the Golden Dog. It was hard to spot, with the old sign fading out so the Golden Retriever logo was hard to make out. Perfect, the boss will never find me here! Butch let out a rare smile and hopped into the bar, at least he was hopeful it was a bar.