Page 19 of Rogue

There was a tremor in his voice that made me think he was on the verge of a panic attack, so I raised a hand to calm him.

“I believe you. That’s not why I’m here,” I said, but couldn’t resist adding, “Though, surely you knew the political instability of the region was one of the main reasons the university board had decided your expedition was unfeasible in the first place. I’m guessing you didn’t raise that particular point with our mutual friend.”

Professor Riley nodded. “No, but I didn’t have a choice. I needed his funding,” he admitted. “At the time, it looked like the region could break out in civil war at any moment.”

“Not a good day to be in Central Africa, then.” I took another drink from my tea.

“They could have destroyed the ruins in the fighting if I didn’t find them before it all kicked off. It happens all the time. In every war fought, we destroy countless numbers of our historical heritage, and that’s when the governments know, or are at least aware, the sites might be there. Imagine how much we’ve lost, how much we’ve destroyed and can never get back.” His eyes were turning glassy, the very thought alone near enough to bring him to tears. “This site is the only one of its kind. The only mark the tribe ever existed at all. I couldn’t let it just get carpet bombed from history.”

“Well, I’m not interested in your reasoning, Professor. I’m sure you did what you thought best.” I smiled again. It was time to cut through the bullshit. “However, I am interested in how you’re planning to repay Mr Ritter, now that your expedition has failed.”

His mouth pulled into a tight frown beneath its nest, his lips pressed so tight they turned as pale as his Lord Kitchener, and he seemed genuinely confused. “Well… er, you see, generally speaking, most investors fund university expeditions for charitable reasons and don’t expect-”

“Yes,” I nodded. “But the University of Washington did not sponsor your expedition. Nor did any other foundation. If they had, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?” I took another long draw of my mug. The tea was lukewarm, but I’d had a lot worse in these theatrics and there was a little less than half left when I put it back down. Beside it, Professor Riley’s coffee remained untouched. It would be stone cold soon, but maybe that was how he liked it. They say you can’t taste cold coffee, after all.

“Mr Ritter isn’t a charity organisation or a socialite looking to score points with the local trash mags, Professor. You signed a contract guaranteeing all funds would be repaid, and that you would be fully responsible for the repayment, which stands at seventy-six thousand dollars.”

“Oh God,” he groaned, the colour seeping from the rest of his face to leave him almost bone white.

I leaned back in the seat. “Yes, I know this must come as a shock. Debts have a habit of building up when not managed properly. That’s why our mutual friend has asked me to give you a hand.”

It seemed to take an age for my words to sink in, but when they finally did, they hit like a hammer swing. He was still as white as a sheet, but his eyes were set dead on me. Suspicion and defiance burned in their icy blue waters. “What sort of hand?”

Maybe he had a spine in there after all.

“There’s no need to look quite so worried, Professor Riley,” I offered, holding his gaze. “There’s no need for this to be unpleasant. I’m not here to break your legs. Just help you facilitate the repayments.”

His frown carved deep lines across his already creased brow. “So you’re a debt fixer.”

“More like a debt eliminator,” I elaborated. “In these trying times, it’s common for people to get their priorities confused. I just un-confuse the matter. Now, normally I would propose repossessing an item of equal or greater value than the debt, such as a car, against repayment. But as you drive a Pontiac, I don’t really see that working here. You also already mortgaged your house to get the lion’s share of the funding for your original expedition, as well as liquidated most of your savings. All this, of course, means your credit is shot to shit, so a loan is out of the question. That just leaves this store.”

“You want me to mortgage my store?” The professor jeered, the ends of his moustache quivering with rage.

“Well, that’s up to you,” I shrugged. This old man was a fool, but I couldn’t help liking him. “You’ve got a lot of nice things here, Professor Riley. Expensive though, perhaps a bit too expensive. A sale might help with that. Or you could sell up, put the stock into storage and go viral. That would cut down on the expenses, don’t you think?”

He spluttered, his face suddenly indignant. “But it’s not that simple. I can’t just sell up at the drop of a hat, and a sale wouldn’t work either. If I drop my prices too much, I won’t be able to pay my suppliers’ fees and then I’ll have no stock.”

“Switch suppliers,” I offered.

“Again, it’s not that easy, and then there’s the bank to think about. Their interest rates were outrageous. I can’t fall back on the repayments to them.” He took a breath, trying to get a grip. “Please, understand, I-I can get the money. Tell Mr Ritter he’ll get it. I just need a little more time.”

Frowning, I sat up. “I see. Well, that’s a pity, because Mr Ritter needs his money by Friday.”

“What!” Professor Riley lurched to his feet, slamming his hands down onto the tabletop hard enough for coffee to spill over the rim of his untouched mug. “Are you mad? I can’t-”

“Sit. Down,” I snarled, low and long, and making no effort to blunt the steel in my voice, like I was talking to a kid throwing a paddy and chucking all of his toys out of the pram. It did the trick. Riley slunk back into his seat, though his eyes were trying to burn their protests into my skull.

Right, it was time to introduce the good doctor to the facts of life. “Professor Riley, I appreciate how upsetting this is for you, but you took Mr Ritter’s money. Now he wants it back.”

He spluttered at that. “Yes, but he never, he never said-”

And what if he had? Would it have made a difference?

“I’m sure he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and you didn’t hear, or perhaps misunderstood. Who can tell? Be that as it may, he still wants what you owe. The choice is yours.”

“Please. I just need more time…” And just like that, the fire left his eyes, and I watched all the energy drain away to show him for what he really was. A tired old man, weak and desperate and grabbing at whatever straw he could see.

“Don’t we all. But then again, we rarely get a choice in these things,” I spat the words out, barely able to stomach them. A mix of pity and revulsion turning my stomach. “Me, for instance. I’d much rather have another cup of this tea on Friday morning than break your legs. Still, you’ll be amazed at how easy things become once properly motivated.”

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