Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: Thank you, Crystal D. Starlit, for the review! Tell your friends. ;)
Night brought silence to Chinatown, the only sound being the soft buzzing of the street-lamps. A man hurried down the street, knocking on the door of the pet shop. His clothes were a mottled gray, torn and tattered from use. He looked young, with thick brown hair and stubble on his chin. He knocked again.
"Coming!" D chirped, opening the door. "Ooh, a customer! Do come in!" He grinned, beckoning the man inside. "Tea?"
"Yes, please." The man's voice was surprisingly youthful, a soft tenor that didn't match his gruff appearance.
After they had had a drink, D was down to business. Sitting with his hands folded in his lap, crisp folds of his pale yellow kimono covering crossed ankles, he gazed curiously at the man. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like a pet. Something low maintenance… Cheap. I don't have much money."
A small smirk played across the Count's lips, despite himself. "How about a goldfish?"
This procured a snort from the youth. "A goldfish? What would I do with a goldfish? I hear they eat like crazy…"
"I promise, the particular fish I have in mind has a very small appetite." Count D smiled, eyes squinting shut. "She will be a good for you."
"…Alright. Fine, I'll take the goldfish. How much will it be?"
After a moment of hesitation, in which the count looked the young man up and down, D responded, "For you? Free. Here, let's sign this contract."
Brent Park sat in the alleyway he had made into his home, staring at the fish in the bowl on the ground before him. Funny, it looked… human. Like a tiny orange-haired pixie, clad in a dress made of… gold coins? His mouth watered. Just one of those coins could pay for a meal. The man could feel his stomach rumbling… It definitely was tempting, to just reach in, pull off a coin. It'd just be one coin, the goldfish girl surely wouldn't miss it.
No, Brent thought to himself. Remember the contract. There were only three rules, easy enough to remember: Feed her twice a day, always burn the incense D had supplied, and never reach into the bowl.
The last one would be the hardest; the coins were just sitting there, twinkling up at him, reflecting the first rays of the morning sun. But Brent stayed still, and after a few minutes of watching and waiting, a coin fell off the dress, sinking to the bottom of the bowl with a soft "plink", muffled by the water. He watched on in apprehensive silence. The fish swam after it, gently picking it up between webbed fingers, bringing it up to the surface. Brent hesitated, then took the coin. "Thanks, I guess?" He spoke softly, not wanting to be dismissed as just another crazy living in the gutter.
"This is the life!" Brent Park reclined on a velvet chaise lounge, his arm around a beautiful woman in a skimpy black dress.
The woman tittered softly into her hand. "Tell me again, Mr. Park, how you came into all this money?"
The two were in the penthouse suite of the most luxurious hotel in the area. Brent had rented it out for the night, and the suite was packed with people. Everyone inside was having a great time. There was drunken dancing, drunken sex, and drunken drunkenness. Everyone outside wanted to be in; Brent was giving out free booze!
"Well, my great-grandpa was a pirate, and he…."
A man appeared behind Brent, soft blonde hair hanging in his face. "I thought it was your grandpa? That's what you said before."
Brent laughed heartily, smoothing out his now gelled-back hair with one hand. He looked quite the millionaire, dressed in a black silk suit with tiny gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. "Well, they both were pirates."
"Whatever, man… There's a poker game starting up. You want in?"
Brent nodded his head, slowly standing, squeezed the woman's waist, then followed the blonde man to a table with several men sitting around smoking. He sat down and picked up his cards.
The following evening found Brent perched on the edge of the bed, staring at a slip of paper in his hand: The caterer's bill. It was far too high, he didn't have enough to pay. Damn, his guests drank like fishes…. Fish. The man stood, walking over to the fishbowl set on his dresser. The little golden pixie stared complacently up at him, golden coins glittering teasingly. Brent bit his lip, reaching in and yanking off several of the coins. Then suddenly, he stopped. His other hand flew to his throat, but in mere milliseconds he fell with a thump to the floor.
"Yeah, Orcot. Another one… Brent Park, you know, the guy they're all talking about? The one who threw that wild hotel party two nights ago?" A chubby black agent leaned against the water cooler of the FBI headquarters. "They found him asphyxiated in his hotel room, clutching a handful of goldfish scales. You mind checking it out?"