The Billionaire In The Shadows

Number 7, The Mischievous Rat

"Get the fuck out of my way!" screamed the old bastard behind the steering wheel of a beat up Toyota Corolla, with every bit of hatred and fury in his heart, for I had dared to overstay my welcome on the crosswalk half a second more than deemed appropriate.

I flipped him off and continued on my merry way along the crosswalk, whistling and playing with a 5 cent coin, rotating the disk between my fingers.

Ah, the beautiful hum and bustle of the big city. Men yelling at you from across the street, and rats making love in dingy alleyways. What more could a person want?

"A damn job." I muttered to myself. I had been here for a couple of months, done a few jobs that didn't last long for one reason or another, and in a couple months had quickly burned through almost all of my savings. "If I don't find a new job soon, I'll be dancing with the horny alleyway rats." I said, staring with an annoyed expression at the rats who, I had to admit, looked like they were having a lot of fun.

Sighing, I adjusted the bags on my arms and dragged my feet along the damp sidewalk. The neon lights were starting to hurt my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the image of the man who haunts all my dreams.

The man, who had suddenly exploded in popularity. He, who had gotten rich seemingly overnight.

I shook my head, and resolved to think about the matter later, when I wasn't busy trying not to starve to death. I reached the door to my apartment, and opened it up, leaning my entire weight against it, exhausted from the walk and the constant overthinking.

"Maine? 's that you?" My roommate, Greant called out. Her name is Payson Murky, but I chose to call her Greant because I think Payson is a terrible name.

"No, I'm a thief, here to rob you of all of your prized possessions, like the two different copies of Pride and Prejudice you have for some reason," I yelled, rolling my eyes. I closed the door behind me with the heel of my foot, "Oh, and your collection of animal mugs that take up way too much space in the kitchen."

"Well if you don't like my animal mugs, maybe you should stop using them, broke f*ck." She yelled back.

"Oh, screw you." I replied, done with the conversation. I locked the door behind me, then set the bags of takeaway on the small kitchen table. Greant emerged out of her room, like a scuttling raccoon, and grabbed her share of the food.

"So..", She began to mutter, opening up her box, and digging in, "Had any luck yet? Will I have to pay your share of the rent this month? I won't, by the way, I'll just kick you out and sue you as soon as I get a new roomie."

I threw her a dirty look. "No, don't worry."

"Are you suuurrree?"

"YES! My da-" I stopped myself before I could continue, ".. I have some cash leftover. Don't worry about it." I put the food down, feeling nauseated all of a second.

I could feel myself going into a flashback sequence, listening to the screaming, watching a singular coin clatter to the floor. The rain on my face and the surprisingly heavy weight of the paper in my pocket.

Canteme.

I forced myself back into reality, shaking off the remnants of the hazy memories.

I need to meet him. The ever so famous Tate Canteme Allokars. I need to know why his name was on that paper. After all, Canteme wasn't a particularly popular name.

Not only that, but something about him, about his eyes, even from a glance at the lifeless form broadcast on the T.V. screen seems familiar.

How? How would I get close enough to him to ask? To finally get some answers, maybe some closure?