Chapter 2 Morty And His Payment

You know, the rich man, Noah. He could have just forgiven me. Fifty thousand dollars isn't much for people like him, but he had to make a fuss about it.

He did that because he had the power to do so. Rich people are so insensitive; they can never understand the problems of people like me.

I was acting destitute; that is because I have certain obligations. I did that because of my conditions. I would have never begged him if I was a free person who didn't have to worry about the bills, the rent, making ends meet, my little brother's expenses and, most of all, the goon Morty.

"Hey Emma, that was Noah Enrique," Jess, a waitress in the same restaurant, explains, reminding me of the existence of the man due to whom I lost my job.

"But why was he harassing you?" Jess asks, confused.

"Harassing..."

"I mean why was he holding your wrist like that? Is he interested in you? Did he offer you something and you denied it so he threw you away with force? What happened between you guys? I can't even believe Noah Enrique is interested in you." Jess exclaims; yeah, she is that type of girl who is always interested in gossip.

Before I can deny her made-up story, she shoves her phone right in my face.

"Here, see, I got the whole thing recorded to show to other girls. It will be such a great story. People will pay to hear it out and, even better, watch it," she exclaims excitedly.

An idea pops in my head.

"Hey Jess, can you send me that video so I can remember my moment with Noah Enrique?" I lie, though the lie itself disgusts me.

"Yeah, sure." She replies and then goes to work.

This isn't the real time to arrive for work, but she gets away with it since she is dating our manager. I mean, she is pretty, tall and beautiful; why wouldn't anyone date her?

I sigh and go back home. I'm greeted by my brother of age four. Sadly he doesn't go to school yet; I can't afford it for now. I thought this new job would help me a lot as it pays a handsome amount, but I just lost it so now I'm doomed.

I play with my little brother Timothy, short for Tim, for some time before there is a knock on my door.

I look through the peephole to see it is the goon Morty.

"Morty... why are... you here?" I ask, scared.

"You know very well. Open the door, bitch." He shouts in a gruff voice.

I slowly open the door and he barges in. He is a tall, rough-looking man. He has a lot of muscles on himself but no woman can ever find him pretty. He has such a bad stink.

"My money." He states.

I lower my head, biting my lips. The thing is, I was supposed to get my paycheck today, but I got fired and now I won't get any paycheck at all. Those are the rules of the restaurant.

"Speak up, bitch, did you go mute?" He asks aggressively, losing his temper. Morty loses his temper quite fast.

"I couldn't get your money, but I swear I'll get it by tomorrow. I'll get it to you, I swear. Please don't hurt us," I start pleading because I know where this is heading.

"You took fucking 90 thousand dollars from me for that piece-of-shit's treatment and I gave it to you. You were supposed to return that money in six months and now it has been a year and only twenty thousand dollars have been paid so far. Where is the rest of the money?" He screams like a madman, kicking the sofa, causing it to fall down and create a heavy noise.

Tim and I both flinch, scared. Tim hides behind me.

"Why couldn't you get my money today?" He asks bewildered.

"I... I got fired." I reply and within an instant I am met with a tight slap, causing me to fall down. My cheek stings and the room spins for me. It takes time to get my vision straight.

"Fucking bitch can't do a single job right. Now how will I get my money?" He screams.

"I'll give it to you somehow... just please don't cause a scene."

He advances towards Tim and picks him up roughly by his collar.

"I'm going to hurt this brat really bad. You either give me the money by tomorrow night or I'll fuck this whole house up and take your brother with me," Morty warns, finally leaving Tim.

He eyes the both of us dangerously; we're both lying miserably on the floor before he finally decides to leave.

I run towards Tim and try to calm him as he is crying and so am I. After ten minutes of effort, he falls asleep and I place him in his bed. I wipe my tears and get myself a glass of water to calm my nerves.

Just then Noah Enrique comes to my mind. I need money and fast. I think about what Jess said.

What if I can threaten him into giving me money with the help of that video?

It is risky, but what other option do I have? I look at my other options and I find none.

I finally decide to go with my option; it is evil but I have no other choice.

I find his email through the internet and decide to mail him.

I first mail the video alone. Then I mail him the following message:

Transfer seventy thousand dollars to the account provided, or else this video will go viral.

I send the mail, my heart beating quite rapidly. In normal circumstances, I wouldn't have ever done that. But my circumstances are nowhere near normal.

I wait for an hour before I finally get a mail back, that was quick!

Waitress, you do realize the consequences of your action?

I get a message, not by email but from his private number. I freak out a little bit, but I've come this far; it would be useless to back out now.

I can defame you for sexual harassment; the video itself is proof. If you do not want any threat to your career, send the money or else prepare yourself for the havoc. People will boycott your company.

I try to sound intimidating but feel like I'm failing.

Nothing like that happened, we both know it waitress.

I read his reply, thinking for a second, and then text back.

You know that, I know that, but other people don't know that. They will believe whatever the video shows, and your image will be ruined. You might even face charges of sexual harassment so think wisely.

I hit the send button.

I don't get a reply for the next thirty minutes and that makes me anxious. Did I make a wrong decision?

Finally my phone beeps and I run towards it. I open his reply and relief spreads over me.

Fine, seventy thousand dollars, cash. Come to my office. The address is ***. You personally hand me the footage and I'll give you the money.

His text makes me extremely happy. Finally all my problems will end. I won't have to be scared of Morty. My debt will be paid and I can finally have some time to think about other stuff like Tim's education.

I'll easily get the money tomorrow.

Nothing can go wrong, right?

I just have to get the money.