Page 40 of Beware of Dog

That little bastard Sig.

Shep crossed to the opposite edge of the sidewalk so he could approach Sig from behind. As he drew nearer, he could hear Ned appealing to reason.

“…a superior product. A safe product. Wouldn’t you rather pay more, and have peace of mind that you won’t OD after one hit?”

When he responded, Sig’s voice was the sort that every retail manager dreaded. “I’d rather pay market value, you stupid shit, which you aren’t charging me. Do you think you can take advantage of me? Do you think my family’s money means I won’t care about being ripped ooooaaaaaah!”

His bitchy tirade morphed into a shout of alarm when Shep gripped his shoulder and spun him around. His weasellylittle face went milk-pale when he saw who had hold of him, and Shep grinned when he started to sputter.

“Hey, Siggy. Remember me?”

“You—you—” He scowled, but it was an act; the fear shone plainly through. “Let go of me.”

Shep leaned in closer; he could feel how nasty his grin was. “Or what?”

The little friends, equally drippy and thin and contemptable, crowded in. “Back off,” one of them said.

And then, another: “I’m calling the goddamn cops!”

“I’m shaking,” Shep said, and gave Sig a good shake just because he could.

Sig burst into a flurry of movement, slapping at his hand, backpedaling fast, kicking at his knees. He broke free, and staggered away, breathing in harsh gasps, face flushing red.

“Sig,” Shep said, conversationally, shoving his hands in his back pockets. “You and I have got to stop meeting like this. Every time I turn around, you pop up like a fucking weed. How are you ROR, anyway? You make bail?”

Sig’s face went from red to mottled purple. A vein popped in his neck when he ground his skinny jaw back and forth. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

The friends had fanned out. One had a phone pressed to his ear, but Shep figured he had a few minutes.

“Actually, itismy business. In two ways.” He offered two fingers for emphasis. “For starters, you’re buying from my club. You’re trying to lowball my employee over here.” He gestured to Ned, and then he let his smile getreallymean. “But most of all: I thought I told you not to go near Cassandra Green again.”

Annoyance flashed in his gaze, quickly banished when Shep leaned in closer, and snagged him by the front of his faux-distressed jacket.

“And yet there you were yesterday, waiting outside her classroom like a fuckhead.”

“I wasn’t waiting for her.”

“No? Her friend, then? The one you raped?”

That accusation was a bridge too far for the little shit, apparently. He bowed up, as his friends made harsh, disagreeing sounds, and said, “I’ve never raped anyone in my life. I don’t have to. And I sure as hell won’t be accused of abusing women by a fuckingLean Dog.”

Shep had never had the title spat at him with quite such vitriol. It was a good thing he didn’t care.

“This Lean Dog,” he said, “is cutting you off from our supply. You don’t get to abuse my seller and still get product. Go take your chances with the cartel shit. Maybe you won’t OD the first time you snort a line.”

“Fuck you,” Sig said, bold as you please, defiant in the way of every rich boy who’d never experienced a single hardship in his entire spoiled life.

Shep hit him. Cocked his fist back and decked him right in the nose. It was an automatic, kneejerk reaction, but when Sig screamed and went down to his knees, he didn’t feel any regret or guilt. Felt only a very personal satisfaction.

The friends started jawing at him, but none of them were brave enough to get close.

Blood dripped through the fingers Sig held cupped over his nose, and he shouted something strangled and clotted that Shep couldn’t make out, and didn’t want to.

“Lose our number,” Shep ordered, stepped around him, and grabbed a shaking Ned by the elbow.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Ned chanted as Shep marched him down the sidewalk. “Oh shit, Shep! This is bad! This is really bad!”

“It’s fine. Keep walking.”

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