Not Worth Dying For - 1

Chapter One1

Bottom-Feediing2

Have you ever wanted money so badly that you started to plan a robbery in your head? It always seems so simple: Get some willing and trustworthy friends, set up an escape plan, use fake license plates, and go knock off a store or something.3

But then you realize that it would never work. Either you'd get shot, or nervous, or one of your “trustworthy” friends would flake out on you. Then you're stuck in a position where you're trapped in a place where you're a criminal and there's nowhere to run. You're fucked.4

This was probably the fifth time I thought about this all day. I blame the fact that there's nothing good on television on Saturdays anymore—save for the occasional movie that you haven't seen in a decade or two. There was a marathon for one of the cop dramas I don't watch, and the stupidity of the criminals had played a part in my thoughts of crime. They were the kinds of criminals that made you think, “I could do better than that.”5

I was fired from my last job at a music shop, if you cared to know why I was so desperate for money. I lied about the prices and faked receipts so I could earn some extra cash. A few too many returns with receipts that didn't match up with the ones kept in the store provoked unwanted suspicion. I'm sure you can fill in the rest.6

Luckily they didn't ask for the money back, so I had a bit saved up. Within the past week though I've been running out. I'd probably just end up bumming some money off a friend while I “looked for a job.”7

I picked up a TV Guide, and eventually found one of my favorite shows that would be on later. I was tired anyway, so I went to lay down for a few hours.8

* * *9

Later, I went back out to the couch to catch up on my show. The phone rang just as I was sitting down. I always hated that—half-bent at the knees and all of a sudden I have to reverse my motion for someone else, and then try again later. I set my glass of soda on the end-table and picked up the receiver. “Clive,” I said. I don't know why I don't just say hello, must've picked it up from my dad—only then it was a last name, not a first.10

“You're home! It's Dover. I have someone I want to introduce you to.”11

“Who's being introduced? Me or her?”12

“What makes you think it's a girl?”13

“Fine, then; me or it?”14

Dover sighed. “Okay, you got me. It's a girl. You busy?”15

I looked around my apartment: empty. “How long you gonna be? I need time to get the hookers out.” Luckily, Dover knew me well enough to know I was lying (however, he also knew me well enough to not put it past me).16

Dover laughed with only a little discomfort in his voice. “You have plenty of time. We'll be there in around twenty minutes.”17

“Twenty minutes? We live in a college town. Nobody's twenty minutes away from anyone at anytime.”18

“We're stuck in traffic.”19

Oh, right. There was a football game today. Must be letting out right around this time. “Okay. Take your time.”20

Dover hung up the phone, swearing at the game day traffic. I straightened my back, letting several pops ring out. I sat back down on the couch, took a sip from my soda glass, and hit the power button on the remote. I waited for the picture from my show to appear.21

“Damn,” I said aloud. I missed the beginning.22

* * *23

There was a knock on my door later. I didn't respond; he knew he could come in when he wanted, and I wanted to finish my show.24

The knock came again after a few moments and I yelled back, “I was kidding about the hookers! Come in!” With that, the handle turned and my old friend Dover came in.25

I held up a finger to show that I'd be a minute. I heard two pairs of feet walk in and shut the door behind them. When my show was over, I turned to them.26

Dover was dressed up a little less than usual, seeing as I usually caught him after work while he was still in his suit. Nevertheless, he was still what I would consider dressed up. “So who's the friend?” I asked.27

“Clive, this is Cassandra; Cassandra, Clive Turner.”28

She was tall. That was the first thing I noticed, considering she towered over my average-sized male friend next to her. She was wearing a black dress, black heels, and carrying a black purse. Yep, she knew how to coordinate colors. She was blond too, but with her hair pulled back as it was, it was hard to tell if it was nice. I think it was also stretching out her face a bit, tightening the skin. She could go easier on her hair, you'd think.29

She held out her hand in a very businesswomanly manner. I shook it in a very let's-get-this-over-with manner. It was long enough to tell that she squeezed more with her index finger though. I notice little shit like that; it's a habit I wish I could get rid of, because now that I've noticed something, I'll have to keep thinking about it until I can figure it out.30

“Nice to meet you,” Cassandra said.31

“Yeah,” I replied. “Hey, Dover. You think you could spot me a little money? The cable bill's coming up and I'd rather not delay payment until I find a job.”32

Dover shrugged. “The boss is cutting my hours by a bit, so I don't know if I'll be much help for now.”33

I was tempted to call bullshit. Instead I said, “Fine. You'll help me if you can though.”34

Dover shrugged again. “Hey, I gotta use the bathroom really quick. That traffic had me looking forward to this. You'll be all right, right, Cassie?”35

Cassandra nodded and I said, “What the hell'd you ask her that for? It's not like I'd do anything weird.”36

Dover ignored me and walked off into the bathroom. I returned to the television to see what was on next. Cassandra set down her purse and walked over to the living room, taking a seat on the ottoman across from me—between me and the television. “What are you doing?” I asked.37

“You seem pretty cold.”38

I took a sip of my soda and answered, “People piss me off, so I only thought it fair to piss other people off. The result is coldness, I guess.”39

Cassandra smirked. “That makes sense.”40

“Yeah. And while we're on the subject of personalities, you seem pretty forward.”41

She smirked again. “It's a part of my line of work I guess. You see, I didn't just approach you so I could insult you. I wanted to see what you were willing to do for money.”42

I raised an eyebrow. “Don't you have Dover to do that now?”43

“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” The toilet flushed then and Cassandra huffed. “Here,” she said as she got up to walk to her purse. “Take this card. Call me if you really want money.”44

I had no time to look at the card. The bathroom door swung open and I pocketed the card quickly. Cassandra was apparently practiced at the art of looking casual in situations that might look awkward, as she turned away from me as though she were finishing a sentence and heard the door behind her, wearing a smile on her face that would have gotten past even my own perception.45

“Well, Cass, you have work early in the morning, right?” Dover asked.46

“Yes. It's just a boring business meeting though; I could stay up a bit longer.”47

I raised the other brow this time. “So what kind of business do you work for?”48

She looked at me and seemed to falter. After she corrected herself, she smiled and answered, “Waste disposal services.” If she hadn't been in front of Dover, I think she might have winked at the end of that statement, because the smile never failed, and it was almost playful. Hell, even if she had winked, I wouldn't have known what it meant. For all I knew, she actually did work in 'waste disposal services.'49

An hour and several beers later, Dover and Cassandra were ready to leave. I led them out and locked the door behind them. It was late, yes, but I didn't have a job to be at within the next week, so I grabbed a soda and headed back to the couch. About five minutes into some late-night TV show I hadn't seen before, I remembered the card in my pocket.50

I dug out the crumpled mess of stiff paper to see the information of the person who was offering me work:51

Cassandra Jenkins52

Assoc. Director of Waste Disposal Services53

“You've got to be fucking kidding me.”