He was like every other, some suit who got a little too comfortable spending rather than saving. Weekend trips to the track, bar tabs exceeding his pay grade, a few too many bad hands in hold ’em. After the initial high, there comes the fall.
“Next week,” he pleaded, “Next week, I’ll have everything all sorted out an-”
“You said next week two months ago,” a harsh voice bellowed in the smoke-filled room, the basement area of the now-empty bar they found themselves in.
“Yeah, but,” came the expected response, “m-my mother had surgery and money was tight, so I chipped in what I could.”
“With what you make, you could’a held off until your debts were paid. Now I’ll have clear it myself.”
There was a piercing silence, the shaky breath of the suit now muted in abject terror.
“How… how’re you gonna do that?” the suit finally asked.
“The collector’s here,” the commanding voice sighed, “so I’ll talk to him and he’ll fix this right up.”
“Oh thank god, how’s he-”
There was a shot, and the suit fell. Debt paid.