Series of Death, Draft 02, CH 18 (Patreon)

While the homeless were numerous, and it was easy to find the alleys where they lived, finding them wasn’t easy. Not only did their lack of worth make any alliance between one another unsteady at best, they also had to worry about any stranger entering their alleys. Productive people wouldn’t bother with them, but the closer someone was to becoming homeless, the more appealing a free meal became, no matter how terrible the taste. At that stage, having meat in your stomach could be the difference between getting to work or sliding further toward homelessness.

There were organizations trying to help; to set them back on the path of productivity. And some even have a few stories of success. This male or female shaking of the stench of homelessness to return to society and play their role in making the overall productivity increase. But mostly, those organizations begged productive people for scraps they then handed to the homeless community so they didn’t have to eat one another.

Trembor couldn’t figure out how he felt about it, as he walked through a deserted alley. The stench was fresh; his approach had scattered them. On one hand, he believed everyone had the right to survival, and that in the end, so long as they did so legally, they should get the assistance they needed. But on the other, there had to be a point where all this was doing was putting the rating of the people trying to help at risk.

He looked back to see if any of his stalkers was back. They’d vanished while Trembor walked through the second such alley. At least now he knew they weren’t as serious as he was about finding Bo. Or maybe they were simply more realistic about the odds of finding him. They weren’t good; he knew that. The odds of finding one lion among this mass of people doing everything they could not to be found were…

He wouldn’t think of them as impossible. That meant giving up on Bo, and he wasn’t doing that. He wasn’t giving up on family, ever.

He paused by a form on the ground. The stench of the alley permeated it, so he couldn’t tell much. That they hadn’t fled at his approach told him they were dead. He crouched and checked for a pulse, then wiped the grime off his hand. Still warm, so the death was recent. No sign of violence on or around the body. As unsettling as the thought was, death by hunger was the most likely cause.

What a horrible way to go. Better to be someone’s meal than suffer like this, slowly wasting away. Did they have their ID still? Was it worth looking for it? He could inform their family; they might already consider them dead. Did they need to know this is what their relative had amounted to?

He straightened, looked around. His arrival would have kept the other from noticing the death. Once he left, they’d return, feast on the little meat this body provided. They would live an extra day because of it. Maybe this would mean one of them became a success story and rejoined society.

Trembor doubted the truth of those stories now, seeing this place. Was there any way out of this, really? He had to find Bo. Which meant finding another alley, because his brother wasn’t in this one.

As soon as he stepped onto the street, he heard the fight break out behind him. Far enough the body caused it. Even in their desperate state, instinct of possession still existed. Predators didn’t share easily.

The crowd parted around him again. With his multiple treks in alleys, their stench stuck to him, marked him as an outlier. Maybe he was ripe for eating. He felt the eyes on him, kept to the better lit areas of the street. With the sun setting, the odds of finding Bo in the alley were dropping even more, and his safety became more questionable. Alleys at night were the realm of the homeless and those who preyed on them.

He called Bo and got the blocked message again. Had his brother gotten rid of his pad? Sold it for currency? He hoped not. He sent him another message. Bo, night’s coming. You need a real place to sleep and a shower. Just call and tell me where to pick you up. No lecture. Just safety.

He made it to the lot where he’d left his car with little more than looks. He smelled like someone how could be taken down, but once his would-be killer was close enough, they saw the quality of his clothing, the sharpness of his gaze, and his teeth. They turned away. No one who stalked people smelling like he did right now wanted a real fight.

Packs are who he had to worry about. Where numbers made up for lack of strength and skill. A pack like the one entering the lot from the opposite side, a warthog at the lead.

There had been a warthog following him multiple times throughout the day, but he’d stayed downwind, so Trembor didn’t know if he was the same person or one of a group, a family, possibly a relative of the one he’d killed.

Families didn’t do revenge, it got too expensive, but criminals were a different thing. They did most of the work of keeping each other in check by wiping themselves out for someone who got eaten by a rival pack.

Trembor could take the lone hog if he decided to attempt to get his revenge. His budget would take a hit, but he had freezers he could store the excess meat. He’d rebuild his funds by not having to hunt for longer.

It was the half dozen other people with the hog that dropped his chances of being the one to walk out of this confrontation down to a statistical zero. Two bears, a tigress, a wolf, and two leopards, each with the grin of someone who knew they had an easy meal coming.

His one hope was to reach his car first, but it was closer to them than him. Running would trigger a chase; that he headed for the car or away. And he wasn’t prey. He didn’t run. Halfway to his car, only the warthog kept walking, and Trembor judged he’d slowed so they would reach it at the same time. This no longer felt like it was motivated by revenge.

Trembor unbuttoned his jacket, preferring the mobility to the protection from the cooling air. They stopped on each side of the car. A lunge on one of their part would cover the distance. He readied himself, just in case. He wouldn’t attack, this would trigger the others to join, but he would defend himself.

The warthog sniffed the air and made a contemptuous face. “There’s someone who wants to see you.” He motioned the way he and his pack had come, and just outside the lot’s light, Trembor barely made out a large car.

Trap, resounded in Trembor’s head, and running seemed like a reasonable option. Not prey, he reminded himself. He’d go down fighting, not running. And if they wanted to eat him, they didn’t need the pretense of the meeting. They had the numbers.

Trembor stepped toward the car. The hog fell in step behind him as the pack parted, everyone remaining out of reach of him. They weren’t as confident of his intention to see this through, he realized, as they formed a line to prevent him from bolting to the side or the back. The stench surrounding him acted as a cloak over his intentions.

The car was expensive. The kind his father used to own when he worked, his way of advertising how productive he was, how successful, despite hating the things. But lawyers were one of the rare class of people that attracted predators even when they were somewhat successful because even they failed the occasional client. A show of success also attracted clients.

The back door opened a few steps aways and Trembor stopped. The inside remained dark, the little street light making it in only showing shapes. Three of them, maybe four? One of them cried out, and a lion was shoved out of it, to sprawl on the ground.

“I will advise you to remember this discussion,” a female said, inside the car, “Mister Goldenmane. Unless you wish for things to become quite uncomfortable for you.”

The door closed as Trembor reached his brother and was gone as he helped him to stand.

“Bo, are you okay?”

His brother pushed him away, covering his muzzle. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “You stink.”

“Who was that? What happened to you? I’ve been searching for you all day, leaving you texts.” His brother looked to be in a better state than Trembor had feared. His clothing was disheveled, his mane a mess, but he didn’t look too dirty. “Where did you vanish to?”

“I’m fine. No thanks to.”

“Hey! Don’t lay this at my feet, Bo.”

“I asked for your help and you told me to fuck off.”

Trembor bit back his reply. Boo was right, he hadn’t exactly helped. “Who was that?”

“No one.” His brother replied. Tone flat and Trembor cursed the stench clinging to him. It made it as impossible to pick up Bo’s intent as it hid his. “You can stop worrying about me. It’s dealt with.”

Trembor narrowed his eyes, keeping his ears from folding back by willpower. “What does that mean?”

“It means that this isn’t any of your business.” Bo replied, “just like you wanted it.”

“That isn’t—”

“Fuck off, Trem!” His brother’s eyes burned with anger. “You had your chance to help. I’ve handled it, like an adult.”

Trembor rolled his eyes but kept silent. Sure, running off and hiding was such an adult thing to do for a predator. He forced his breathing to slow. “Alright, I’ll drive you home.”

“To my car,” Bo replied. “I’m able to drive myself. And I don’t want to be around your stench any longer than I have to. Where the fuck have you been?”

Trembor couldn’t keep the growl out of his voice. “Looking for you.”

His brother’s eyes widened. “And you thought I’d hid someplace that smelled like that?”

“I figured you were desperate.”

Bo snorted. “I’m never going to be that desperate.”

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