Cutting Deals

-/-

"You got the stuff?" Antoine asks with a stupid grin. Howard can swear he's drooling.

"Do I usually disappoint?" Howard asks, eyeing up Antoine, Zil and Hank. All three significantly bigger than him. None as smart, thankfully. Hank probably thinks he is. "You have the canned tuna you promised?"

"Sure we do," Hank says, moving in uncomfortably close. "But who says we want to share?"

"You getting your booze says you want to share, dumbass." Howard's face stays strategically blank, even as Antoine shoves him forward and wrenches his backpack away.

"Where's your freak friends to protect you now? Where's the Rockman?" Antoine crows. Giggling, he drags the backpack to the back of the room.

"You gonna go whine about this to moof-master Sam?" Zil says with a sneer. Howard notes that he's holding a knife. "Tell him we didn't pay for your illegal booze?"

Howard rolls his eyes as Hank searches his pockets.

"Hey!" Antoine says. "There's no booze in here."

"Duh," Howard says. "You think I'd actually bring the alcohol here where you could steal it? I dropped it off somewhere. I'll tell you where it is if you stop being morons and actually give me my payment."

"Or we could just pound you here until you talk," Antoine says angrily.

"Yeah? If I go back to Orc with a broken nose your happy hour's going to be cut really short, Antoine."

"This isn't about your booze, Antoine!" Zil yells. "This is about sending a message to the freaks and their friends on the Council."

"And like I said, Zil. You think that little knife's going to do anything to Orc? The only message that'll send is that if you mess with me, Orc's going to beat your head into oatmeal."

"We could just kill him," Hank says with a strange, vicious glee.

"Or you could just give me the tuna," Howard shoots back, then lies, "Orc knows where I am right now. He'll come after you."

For a few seconds, the members of the Human Crew exchange glances.

"I really just want my drink," Antoine finally whines. Disgusted, Hank throws a can of tuna at Howard's feet.

Zil tosses the backpack at him. "Watch your step, Bassem. You can't always rely on having moof friends."

"But I probably can always rely on being smarter than you." Howard taps his temple with a smirk and swings his backpack over his shoulder. "Your booze is in the car door of the red sedan on Sheridan. And thank you, gentlemen, for this respectful and professional business arrangement."