My Netori Life With System: Stealing Milfs And Virgins

Gerald went slightly quiet.

"Your name is on the maintenance records," Big G said. "Her name is on the lease agreement and the property title."

"I know the building, Gerald. We know all the buildings in this district."

"Then you know it has value," Gerald said. "You know the income from it is reliable."

"I know a lot of things," Big G said. "What I know right now is that you owe twelve thousand Dollah and Wednesday is four days away, and your wife doesn’t know you’ve been using your casino winnings, when you have them, to pay back a portion of what you owe us."

He stepped forward, not far, just enough to change the geometry of where Gerald was in the alley. "She doesn’t know about us at all, does she?"

Gerald said nothing.

"No," Big G said. "She doesn’t..."

"Because if she did, you’d have had a different conversation than the one you’ve been having, and you’d probably have found the twelve thousand a different way."

"She would’ve helped," Gerald said, quietly, to himself as much as to Big G. "If I’d told her in the beginning... She would have helped."

"Maybe," Big G said. "But you didn’t tell her in the beginning."

"So that’s a theory now."

"What do you want me to do?" Gerald said. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do, and I’ll do it."

"Wednesday," Big G said. "Twelve thousand, cash."

"Everything we discussed. After that, we revisit the arrangement."

"And if I can’t get twelve thousand by Wednesday."

Big G looked at him for a moment in the way that contained its own answer and did not need to be made explicit, the look that people who operate in certain kinds of arrangements have developed because explicit is legally inconvenient.

"Then we have a different conversation," he said. "About the building."

"About what the building is worth to us as a different kind of asset."

"She has nothing to do with this," Gerald said. "Petricia has nothing to do with any of this."

"She lives in the building," Big G said. "She runs the building, and that makes her part of the asset."

"You’d go after her for something I did," Gerald said. It came out with more disbelief than he probably intended.

"Gerald," Big G said patiently, "we don’t go after people."

"We collect on arrangements, but if the arrangement gets complicated, we simplify it. That’s all."

"That’s not all," Gerald said.

Big G looked at him without changing his expression.

"Wednesday," he said. "Don’t make me say it again."

’This fucking bum... I can’t believe it that he can’t man up to this fucking gang member.’

’Let me just... cook.’

Mike pulled the fire exit door open.

He came out into the alley with his hands loose at his sides and his pace easy, like someone who had pushed a door open without thinking about what was on the other side of it, which was the safest possible version of appearing in a space where you were not expected.

Both men looked at him.

Mike looked back at them with the particular quality of uncomplicated innocence, the expression of a person who has walked into something and not yet understood what it is.

"Sorry," he said, and he said it in the tone of someone who genuinely was. "I was looking for the street exit."

"I must have taken the wrong door."

Big G studied him for two seconds. His assessment was quick and professional, typical of someone trained to identify potential threats.

What he noted was a medium build, empty hands, and eyes that seemed slightly unfocused, likely due to the poor lighting. There was no visible indication of anything other than a person who had simply taken a wrong turn.

"Back inside," Big G said. "Street’s around the front."

"Right," Mike said. "Thank you."

He met Gerald’s eyes for a fraction of a second. Gerald’s face did the specific thing of someone encountering the unexpected at an extremely inconvenient moment, and then Mike looked away from it before the recognition could land in Big G’s peripheral vision.

He pushed the door back open. He did not go all the way through it.

He let the door settle to three inches open and positioned himself in the gap with his back against the wall inside.

The conversation in the alley continued. Big G reiterated the figure for Wednesday, and Gerald confirmed it. The nature of his confirmation reflected a person uncertain about how they would accomplish the task but agreeing nonetheless, as the alternative to agreement felt even worse.

Then Big G muttered something too quiet to be understood, and Gerald responded with a hesitant yes. Big G let go of Gerald’s shoulder and stepped back.

Gerald began to walk toward the chain-link fence at the end of the alley, moving with the demeanor of someone who had just endured a close call and was uncertain about what had just happened.

Mike pushed through the fire exit and came out into the alley.

Big G turned. He was three meters away.

His expression moved from the blank professional neutrality of a man finishing a transaction to the much less neutral expression of a man who had been alone in an alley and suddenly wasn’t.

Mike said, "Gerald."

Gerald stopped walking and turned around.

"Ah," Mike said, performing perfectly calibrated surprise. "I thought I recognized you."

"Sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to someone."

Big G looked at Mike. Then he looked at Gerald, who had turned the color of someone facing an impossible social situation and was processing it quickly.

"You know this man," Big G said to Gerald, and it was not a question.

"He’s my tenant," Gerald said. "He lives in our building."

Mike looked at Big G with the particular expression of someone who has wandered into something they don’t understand and is being extremely polite about it.

"I’m sorry to interrupt," he said. "Gerald, I was just coming to find you."

"Petricia wanted me to—" He stopped. Frowned slightly, as though recalibrating. "I’m sorry, are you in the middle of something?"

Big G was looking at him with the flat assessment again, and this time it was longer.

"Sir," Big G said to Mike. "Go around the front."

"This is a private conversation."

Mike looked at Gerald. Gerald’s eyes were doing something that was very clearly trying to communicate several things at once, and what they were trying to communicate was please leave, please don’t ask questions, please for the love of anything go.

What they were also communicating, underneath that, was "you have no idea what this is."

Mike nodded at Gerald with the nod of someone who has understood a social signal and is responding appropriately.

"Of course," he said. "I’ll wait inside."

He turned back toward the fire exit and got two steps before Big G said, "Actually," and Mike turned around.

Big G had shifted. The shift was small, a rebalancing of weight and attention, but it was the kind of shift that changes the texture of a space.

"You live in this man’s building," Big G said.

"I do," Mike said.

"Since when?"

"About a week ago," Mike said. "Why?"

Big G studied him for another moment. He had the quality of someone running a secondary assessment, the first one having been for immediate threat, this one for longer-term relevance.

Mike held the expression of mild curiosity without pressure, the face of someone who had asked a reasonable question and was prepared to wait a reasonable amount of time for an answer.

"The building on Harwick," Big G said. It was not a question either.

"That’s the one," Mike said.

"What are you there for... student?"

"Postgraduate," Mike said. "Valcrest."

"Moved in last week, like I said." He paused, just long enough to land the next part correctly. "Is there something specific about the building I should know?"

"Because Gerald’s been very helpful so far, but if there’s a tenant orientation I missed—"

Big G’s expression did not move, but his attention redistributed slightly. The tone was wrong for a man who had been frightened off.

He had sent this man back inside, and when he returned, he was asking questions with the unhurried quality of someone who had not realized he was supposed to be somewhere else.

"Nothing you need to know," Big G said. "Landlord stuff."

"Right," Mike said. He looked at Gerald. "Gerald, I’ll wait in the bar."

"Take your time."