Free The Animals: A Novel by Christian Kiefer

those cost?
    I don’t know, Nat said. We got it in a trade.
    What kind of trade?
    I don’t know, Nat said.
    You don’t know?
    I can’t remember.
    Mike stepped forward and in one quick, almost graceful movement slammed his fist into Nat’s stomach and then turned to face Rick, who was already moving forward those few last feet across the room. Don’t, Mike said. This is business.
    What the fuck does that mean? he said, standing now just a few inches from Mike’s face. Get the fuck out of here.
    Rick, Nat said, doubled over, still trying to catch his breath. It’s OK.
    What the fuck it’s OK? Rick said. And then, to Mike, again: Get the fuck out of here.
    Don’t do that, Mike said.
    I’ll do anything the fuck I want. Who the fuck are you?
    I’m Mike. Maybe you need to wait out in the hall like I asked you to.
    Fuck you, Rick said, but the end of the word was clipped off by the strike of Mike’s fist in his side. The blow had come without apparent physical precedent and with such speed that Rick seemed merely to stagger backward of his accord, slipping toward the doorway. In the next moment Mike’s hand came forward and pressed him, almost gently, through that aperture and out onto the concrete platform that topped the stairs, swinging the door closed with his foot and locking the deadbolt.
    Please don’t hit me again, Nat said. I’ll get it. I’ve almost got it.
    Rick’s fists were banging on the door now, his voice calling Nat’s name over and over, the sound of it muffled through the wood.
    My god that guy’s irritating, Mike said. Look, you’re gonna have to give me something.
    Like what?
    I’m not leaving empty-handed, Mike said.
    I’m tapped out, Nat said.
    Didn’t you get paid last week?
    Yeah, but it wasn’t a good week.
    Ah shit, Mike said, exhaling. What did I tell you last time?
    Not to miss a payment, Nat said, but I’m not going to miss it. I’m just a little late. That’s all. The hammering had stopped now and in the silence Nat could hear his own heart beating as if the distant echo of Rick’s fists on the wooden door. I’m trying, Mike, Nat said. I really really am. I promise.
    You promise? I’m pretty sure you promised last time. Johnny doesn’t like excuses.
    I know, I know, Nat said. He had straightened up now. His stomach felt loose and flabby, as if the muscles there had given up and were now hanging loose from his ribs. Look, you can take the Atari? OK? Will that work for right now?
    What am I gonna do with that?
    I don’t know, he said. Pawn it. Or take it home.
    Mike stood looking at him. What kind of games you got?
    It came with Space Invaders. We got Pitfall and Frogger .
    Pitfall’s the one where you’re jumping over those ponds and snakes and shit?
    Yeah.
    That’s pretty fun, right?
    I like it.
    He seemed to consider for a moment. Both joysticks?
    Yeah.
    All right. Unplug it and put it in a paper bag, he said. But this is just a delay. I’m telling you, Nathaniel, if you knew the shit I had to do, you wouldn’t be late with a payment. Not ever.
    I know, Nat said.
    No you don’t, Mike said. He stood there for a moment in the doorway and then reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of Parliaments. You want a smoke? he said.
    Yes please, Nat said.
    He held up the pack and Nat took a cigarette and then was handed a silver Zippo upon which was engraved a skull surrounded by roses. The instrument weighed heavy in his hand and the flame it produced seemed to dance everywhere before him but he managed to get the cigarette lit and drew upon its smoke as if it were cool clean air.
    You get that thing unhooked for me, OK? Mike said.
    Nat turned and slid the television away from the wall and jerked the little tabs from their screws and then pulled the small game box forward, its four toggle switches shining in the grim slanting light. He wrapped the cables around its body and then went to the kitchen and hunted for a paper sack and was relieved to find one pressed