George (Three)

Slob's pants legs were way too big. His arms flailed all wild. He sprinted real good to start, but he didn't have any cardio, and was already slowing down. Just as well, I was getting tired quicker than I thought I would. All that caffeine made me overconfident, and the lack of bourbon took my edge off. Punk rounded a corner into an alley, and I just missed nabbing that hood.

Chain link fence blocked the alley. I watched that slob jump to grab the top of the fence, but he couldn't pull himself up. All sad, dangling there, legs kicking like it was gonna help him. I ran over, grabbed his pants cuff and yanked. His jeans slid straight off, and somehow he kicked me in the face, used that to push himself up and over the fence.

I threw his pants to the side, then heaved myself over that fence. Other side of the alley, he leapt into a blue Celica, passenger side window rolled down. All the Diablo slobs inside laughed, gave me the finger when they drove away. We could try to track the car, without a plate, but chances were by the time we found it, it'd be in pieces in a chop shop, and parts of it would be all over the city.

I went back to the punk's jeans. Size 50 waist, cuffs rolled up, lots of designs and orange spray paint stains. Probably cost more than my month's rent, which I was thinking von Braun was gonna give me guff about next month. I paid last month's, you'd think it'd be good enough, but no, he's gotta keep getting his fix every month. Rent junkie.

Reached into the pocket, sank my arm down to the elbow. Found 5 bucks and a key ring.

Just a few keys on the punks' key rings, but I could play with it. Small red pocketknife, blade was sharpened down to look like a shank. Small metal rose on a chain, small enough to fit on my thumb. Most of the paint had chipped off the rose, it'd been on that chain a long time, even longer than the pocketknife. Couple of house keys. I had to try running them, see if he could help me find the lock.

Then, a locker key, kind you find at bus stops. It said 3917. Handle looked real beat up, and there were a few scratch marks where the key met the ring, like he'd been carrying it a while. How many locker 3917s could there be?

I pocketed the 5. He owed me that much. He made me run.