“Well, then make it quick.”
“I’ll only be a second, relax. I just wanted to let you know you did a good job last week. Your effort looked very convincing, yet you still lost by twenty-five points.”
Quentin suddenly realized that once he’d taken that first snap, he hadn’t even thought about throwing the game. He felt doubly humiliated — first because he’d considered tanking, and second because he’d played his tail off, lost, and this bat thought he’d lost on purpose. Quentin felt an anger brewing in him like he’d never felt before.
“Just keep it up, backwater,” Maygon said. “One more loss and you’ll be wearing the blood red before Tier One season starts. Just letting you know that I’m here, and I’m watching. Now piss off, I want to chase some tail.”
Quentin stood for a moment, then turned, the rage so thick in his head it was hard to think. One more loss… the phrase echoed in his mind. The To Pirates, his childhood dream, and all he needed was one more loss. He walked towards the bar. It was time to get those two drunks out of there and go back to the rooms.
He was so mad he didn’t notice the things around him, like the crowd parting before him the way it had for John Tweedy, or the two huge Ki that blocked the sidewalk and weren’t about to part for anybody. Quentin almost walked right into them.
“Excuse me,” he said, but the Ki didn’t move. Quentin looked at them for a moment, their expressionless black eyes staring back, then he tried to walk around them.
They moved to block his path.
“You guys have a problem?”
The Ki said nothing. A Creterakian, this one dressed in lemon yellow with long flowing streamers of dark yellow, flew up and perched on one of the Ki’s shoulders.
“Quentin Barnes,” the Creterakian said. “My boss would like a word with you.”
Did the To Pirates think he was a moron? “I already heard the sermon. Now leave me alone.”
“You haven’t heard anything,” the Creterakian said, “until you’ve heard it from the boss. And the boss wants to speak with you.”
“I’m heading back to my room. Now get these beasts out of my way.”
“The boss wants to talk with you now,” the Creterakian said. The Ki moved quickly, multi-jointed arms reaching out. Quentin immediately started dodging to the left, but they were too close and he’d been caught off guard. Eight strong Ki arms grabbed him and held him concrete-tight. Quentin in tow, they scuttled into a building. It all happened so fast Quentin barely knew what was happening before the Ki tossed him unceremoniously onto the floor. The noise of the street faded away behind a closed door. He stood up with an athlete’s quickness, but the Ki were already off him, backed up against the door to prevent his escape. The yellow-suited Creterakian was also in the room, only now he was perched on the shoulder of a black-and-tan furred Quyth Leader.
This is bad, Quentin thought instantly. This is very bad. He wanted out and he wanted out quickly. He leaned forward and started lunging for the Ki.
They both pulled knives. He stopped short, almost stumbling into the glittering points.
Knives wasn’t the right word. He’d used knives in his military training. Knives were a foot long at most. These blades were three feet long, serrated on one side, gleaming sharpness on the other.
“Stop being a pansy,” the Quyth Leader said in a gravelly voice. “You’re here until I tell you to leave, so stop being a pansy.”
Quentin backed away from the sword-wielding Ki. The room had another door, but it was behind the Quyth Leader. Quentin suspected if he rushed for that way out, the Ki might cut him down before he could get the thing open.
“I am Mopuk the Sneaky,” the Quyth Leader said. He then gestured to the Creterakian. “This is Sobox. If you see Sobox again, know that he is carrying my voice.”
“I don’t care if he’s carrying your nuts in a paper baggie, you want to tell me what this is about?”
“This is about Donald Pine.”
Quentin hadn’t expected that. “What about him?”
“He works for me,” Mopuk said. “You might say he’s a seasonal employee. Donald Pine owes me a lot of money. He pays off his debt by playing the way I tell him to play.”
Quentin felt stunned. “You’re trying to tell me that Pine throws games for you?”
Mopuk’s pedipalps quivered once.
“Well you’re out of luck then, moron, because Pine’s hurt and I’m playing this week.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Mopuk said. “I want the Demolition to win. You will make sure that happens.”
Quentin was getting tired of people telling him to lose. Damn tired.
“There’s cash in it for you,” Mopuk said. He held out one pedipalp, into which Sobox dropped a credit chit. Mopuk tossed it to Quentin. “That’s a chit for a half million. I believe your entire salary for the season is only one million?”
Quentin looked at the small black chit. Indeed, the readout said c500,000.00. The payable button, however did not glow the blue of an active transaction.
“One million, what a joke,” Sobox said. “You need an agent, backwater.”
“Just take care of business, and that light glows blue,” Mopuk said. “Make sure the Demolition wins by at least a touchdown. That’s all you have to do.”
Quentin stared at the chit. Five hundred thousand — that was half of what he made for the whole season. More than half, if he counted in the tithe he had to pay to the Purist Nation. And hell, they’d probably lose anyway…
He shook his head, trying to clear away such thoughts. He would not throw the game. And besides, if he did, Gredok might find out, and that would be very, very bad.
“Do you know who owns the Krakens?” Quentin asked. “Any idea at all, moron?”
“I know who owns the Krakens,” Mopuk said. “And if you go run and tell him, he won’t be happy. But right now he doesn’t know anything. And if he does find out, I’ll be sure to implicate you in every way possible. I’m protected, gatholi, but you’re not. Who do you think is going to come out of this with their head still attached to their body? You just throw the game and everyone is happy.”
Quentin shook his head. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you let me use those pedipalps to clean my toilet? I had some Tower food didn’t agree with me, and it’s a mess. Your furry little things would clean it up good.”
Sobox flapped once, and the Ki were on him. There was no space to maneuver in the small room. Quentin managed one good punch at the first Ki, but didn’t know if his blow did any damage before he went down under a thousand pounds of heavy alien. He felt sudden blows to his ribs, and one to his jaw. The world spun awkwardly around him as the weight suddenly lifted. Quentin slowly stood up, rubbing his jaw, his ribs feeling like someone had jabbed a baseball bat into him handle-first. He felt something in his mouth. He spit — his front right tooth shot out and landed in a loogie of his blood.
Dammit. I just finished growing that thing back.
“Now shut up and listen,” Mopuk said. “I’m done negotiating. The money is off the table, no more deal there, you blew it. The Demolition win. You do it for free. End of story. And they win by a touchdown. Got that? Seven points, at least. If this doesn’t happen, you’re going back to the Purist Nation in a coffin.”
Quentin looked at the two Ki. He was stuck in this room, and if they wanted, they could easily kill him.