Free The Foul Mouth and the Cat Killing Coyotes (The King Henry Tapes) by Richard Raley Page B

pocket . . . one hopes that’s what he’s fiddling with at least. “Or do you actually have some new stuff to show me?  If not, just tell me and I can go get my games before they’re sold out.”
    “You don’t reserve, T-Bone?”  T-Bone is the nickname I gave the guy.  He hated it, but since when has that stopped me?
    “ Well . . . yeah . . . I do.”
    “Bummer, thought we’d finally found an area where you showed some rebellion.  But , nope . . . you’re such a good boy you even reserve your video games.”  I slammed the register shut and locked it before my own rebelliousness made me steal two more twenties.  I worked so hard for those twenties . . . the business owner part of me deserved them more than the larcenous part of me.  “If you did reserve then why you so worried?  What’s the point of reserving if not to lighten your anxiety in this time of oppressive fucking consumerism?”
    “ That’s it exactly . . . I don’t trust the cashier to hold them for me if they sell out,” T-Bone said, still fidgeting like he had thoughts about bailing on me for whatever new fix Japan had pumped out.  He was so nervous he even forgot to complain about me calling him T-Bone instead of Tyson .
    “That’s good, never trust the cashier.  Bastard steals from me all the time.”
    “Aren’t you the cashier?”
    “Would you trust me with your money?”
    A worried frown came over his face.  He lifted his thumb-callused hand to scratch under his eye in a nervous tic, actually staring at me for once and seeing how shady I could be perceived as to people not aware of my exalted job title.  “But . . . don’t I trust you with my percentages on the lightning rings?”
    “ Static defense rings, SDRs, no lighting , no fantasy CGI crap . . . and yes, you do.”
    The frown continued.  “Have you sold any?” he asked cautiously, curious but trying to be polite.  Stupid ass parents, making your kid polite is the worst thing you can ever do for them.  Polite is just a step away from gullible.  Make your kids suspicious . . . then you’re actually preparing them for this world.
    “Two of them last month actually. I owe you like five-thousand dollars; remind me next week to write a check.  Tonight we’re busy with important stuff . . .”
    “ Five-thousand dollars !”
    “Twenty-five percent of what I made. ” I started rummaging under my counter for two new toys I’d been experimenting on. T-Bone was going to love them.  I was particularly proud of my inventiveness in taking what I already knew and expanding it to another school of the Mancy.  “That’s the deal, ain’t it?”
    “But . . . wait . . . you sell them for ten-thousand each ?”  The frown had gone away and his expression went with the goggle eyes.
    If I hadn’t owed Ceinwyn so much money I probably would have been impressed by it too.  Fourteen-year-old-me back before the Asylum would have thought it enough money to retire on.  I don’t think I even knew they made dollar bills higher than twenties back then.
    Poor little fool.
    All of us out of the Asylum have a strange relationship with money.  Unless you’re a rich fucker like Welf, I guess.  Or Miranda.  But for most . . . going without money for seven years?  Not having to think about taxes or housing or car insurance until your twenties?  We’re worse about it than even college seniors getting ready for the cog-force.
    “These items, even my little experiments, are rare and expensive, T-Bone.  That’s why the Guild of Cocksuckers has such a monopoly.”  I really needed to clean up my counter bottom.  There were old anima conversion formulas crumbled up in wads of paper, plus pieces of glass and metal I’d played anima games on all over the place under there.
    I’m lucky a corporeal anima conjuration hadn’t popped up from the excess . . . that’s all I needed, one of those little freaks under my counter, annoying me all day with hints of prophecy and