Agonist

Chapter 1

Frank Powers sat

across from Lawrence Bradshaw, watching with a bemused smile as the fat little man squirmed and sweated. The small, cluttered back office already smelled bad enough with the odors from the bar and its patrons. Now the reek of fear-sweat and nervous bowel wafted around as well.

Frank didn’t really give a rat’s ass about the other man’s emotional state. “You sign, you’re mine” summed up his feelings nicely.

This place obviously made a decent profit judging by the number of imported beers the bikini-clad barkeeps drew while he’d waited for Lawrence to show up. The house band wasn’t bad, either. Even from back in the office they sounded good. Frank tapped his foot in time to a great cover of Slade’s “Run Runaway” pounding through the thin walls. Smiling at the apt song, he drained the last of his soda, the watered-down flavor another indicator of purebred North American Tightwad.

Across the beat-up chipboard desk, his chubby pigeon picked up a copy of the contract. Put it down. Picked it up again. The way he compulsively rubbed his fingers over his thumbs, he obviously thought Frank was a walking cliché. Frank knew he looked the part. At six-three and two-twenty, he loomed over the other man even when they were both sitting down. Frank wore black jeans and a black silk shirt with silver cufflinks. Heavy black infantry boots. His working uniform.

Frank finally took pity on his prey.

“Look, Lawrence. You can’t pretend to be surprised. The contract spelled everything out, and you assured me you understood all two points of it. In return for a small loan of ten grand, you agreed to remit four equal payments, one each quarter.”

Frank believed firmly in the two sentence contract. No wiggle room for either party.

He placed a small glass ampoule filled with clear liquid on the desk, then an old-fashioned three-ringed syringe. Caressing the smooth, highly polished brass cylinder, Frank looked at Lawrence, eyebrow raised and smiling serenely.

“Have you ever heard the term

agonist

, Lawrence? I hadn’t, until a doctor friend traded me several vials in return for certain services.”

Lawrence gazed down at the tiny bottle, brows knitted. At least he stopped fidgeting so damned much. Then his eyes went to the syringe and he flinched as if already feeling the needle.

“Mr. Powers, please, I—“

“Knock it off, Lawrence.” Frank hated this part, when they all started puling about hard times. “You’re a week late. Being that I’m a generous guy with a heart of gold, you’ve got until midnight Friday to make your payment. Plus ten percent extra for the aggravation.”

He smiled his favorite just-you-and-me-and-aren’t-we-reasonable smile. It was a good one. He’d practiced it carefully.

“And Lawrence? You have my contact information. Please don’t make

me

come find

you

.”