Sleeping With Money (MewGulf AU)

🌻Chapter 7

🌻

"Urrrgh," Gulf groaned. He was sprawled on the sofa, his head pounding. He had been throwing up all night. Finally, it was morning.

First was now cleaning up the mess. The boy had even opened the curtains.

"First," Gulf muttered, squinting.

"What is it, boss?"

"Get me some Tylenol."

Changing positions made him feel even worse. Why did he drink so much?

He rolled up his sleeves and started thinking about last night. Maybe it had all been just a dream. Meeting his old high school rival. Burning the valuable promissory note.

It was a dream. It had to be a dream.

What a nightmare. He just had to stop drinking so much. He dug into his pockets. He was still wearing yesterday's suit, so the note should still be there.

But it wasn't.

In a panic, he pulled all of his pockets inside out, but he still found nothing. Just then, he felt a twinge from his burned fingertips.

It wasn't a dream!

Gulf's mind blanked out in despair. First shook his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

"Hey, stop that!" he barked, glaring at First.

First passed hin the phone.

"It's the president," he whispered.

Gulf instantly came to attention---and felt an overwhelming desire to puke. He sat up as straight as he could and put the phone to his ear.

"Ah, how was it? Did it go well?" the president asked immediately.

Gulf broke out in a cold sweat. Did the president already know about the burned note?

"Ah, yes, that. I'm uh, getting there," he replied meekly.

Why was the president calling so soon? He'd given the job to Gulf just yesterday.

"You have until the day after tomorrow," the president said gravely.

"Huh?" Gulf replied blankly.

"Don't speak to me like that, Gulf," the president said. "You have the note. I want that six million the day after tomorrow. Make that ten million for all the hassle. I expect cash, okay?"

Ten million?

Gulf knew right off that that would be impossible. No way could he pull that off. But he couldn't tell the president that. His hangover quickly disappeared as he desperately considered what to do next. He was dripping with sweat, though his mouth was bone dry.

"Uh, sir, we checked out the factory yesterday," he frantically said. "Found nothing of value, just scrap iron, tools, and a worn out old man."

"He has land, though, so no excuses," the president replied. "Make him sign over the deeds. Ignore anyone who says there's a repossession order. We need to sell the land for ten million."

"B-but the old man is stubborn," Gulf insisted. "I don't think he'll sign---"

He had never thought to ask Rachan to simply sell the land. Even if he still had the promissory note, convincing the old man would not be easy. Now that the note was history, it was completely out of the question. He was at even less of an advantage than before.

"If you can't do it, bring me the note now," the president said crisply. "You're useless. I'll send someone else. I want that ten million the day after tomorrow. It better happen. You have the note, just force the old man. Make him sign. It's simple enough."

Gulf didn't dare tell him what had happened to the note. But what else could he do? He sadly curled his fingers. Which one of them would he lose?

His mind went completely blank. If another gang member took over, who knew what they would do to Rachan. He couldn't risk the old man's safety. Even his shaky morals wouldn't allow it.

"Uh, no problem. It's uh, fine. Leave it to me. I'll have the ten million the day after tomorrow," he managed to say, though his face looked deathly pale.

The president laughed, satisfied. "Good! I'm relying on you, Gulf. Don't let me down."

"Yes, Sir."

Gulf hung up, but still gripped the phone. He couldn't move. It was now or never time. He'd been given his orders.

Ten million in two days?

He felt more cold sweat dripping down his back.

Getting money from Rachan without a note would be even harder. If the old man contacted the police, that would be it.

That bastard!

"First! Do you know how to make money?" Gulf groaned.

"I do," First said calmly, handing over the Tylenol.

"How do you do it?" Gulf asked.

"Used girls' panties are a great source of income," First replied. "I buy cheap panties, wear then myself, then sell them on the internet with some good pictues. You can make three million in a month. Wanna try it, sir?"

Gulf eyed First with suspicion. First had been flashing cash around recently. Gulf had definitely wondered where it came from, but never thought First would stoop that low.

"With your resources, you could really get it going," First said excitedly.

Gulf whacked him over the head. First sank to the floor and crawled out of the office.

First thing first. Guld needed to find the jerk who had burned the note. Mew looked like someone with some cash. Maybe not a full ten million, but Gulf could at least get the six back. Seeing Mew again didn't exactly thrill him, though. He racked his brains, trying to remember the bar from last night.

He glanced at his watch. It was still early. He decided to collect money elsewhere until the bar opened.

TBC