Morning had come, and night has fallen. The daytimes came quick, with him only waking up. His beat-down status was critical enough for his to lay in a coma for a week, but he knew and his body knew that there was business to attend to the next day.
He stretched widely, throwing off his overcoat used as a blanket, and scratched under his arms. He stood up off the dusty ground, dusting off his black shorts and white tank. He smoothed back his spikey mohawk, blinking out from the dark alley to the brightness of the sun-lit streets, seeing pedestrians walk by without a care for one another.
He smiled deviously, bending down to pick up his coat, and threw it over his shoulders, and burried his hands deep down, almost an unbreakable habit for him. He whipped out his packet of toothpicks, and plucked one in between his teeth.
I hope 'dis place is like Boon' he twisted the toothpick, biting hard on it.
Once with that thought gone, he trotted out to the streets, not minding the sun hitting him immediately on his sun-burnt green skin.
The local bar; one place where he could refresh and eat up his thoughts.
He slapped his hand on the scraped laminated cherry wood, staring at the bar tender far down. His eyes almost vanished behind the collar of his coat.
The bar tender walked down, placing an orderly elbow on the counter, and leaned towards Ken.
"What can I do you fer, sir?" the ill-looking Mudokon asked friendly-like.
"Small mug," Ken nodded, looking away once he finished his order. He didn't like to drink beer much, but it would always bring him that muggy buzz to hm that he liked.
Once the 'tender walked away, he looked over to a twosome couple jabbering loud over the clanking of dishes and clamour of chatter.
"D'ja hear, boy? The Oddfather got rid o' another o' his goons," a tattered old Clakker, gumless and wrinkled nodded.
Ken moved his body around to the folks, interested than before.
"Ano'der?" a much younger Clakker, most likely his older grandson, frowned. "Who was it 'dis time, Paw?"
"His right-hand hired man, Mr. Vykker Jones. Di'n't t'ink the fellah would please 'de Oddfather,"
Oddfather, hmm? Ken thought.
"But t'ain't a problem now. Hired 'im a new 'itman. Dunno the prospect of the youngin'. But I'm t'inkin' t'e new guy knew the Oddfather 'fore,"
"Really," the grandson drawled. "What's the task fer now?"
"Same as always...One o' 'is boys been captured by the damned security force,"
"You mean...NSSU?" the younger one replied.
"Yeah, 'dat one," the old hag nodded.
"Hmm...it's a shame the NSSU have 'ta mess wit' the Oddfather. He no nice guy,"
NSSU? Haven't I heard that name b'fore? Ken rubbed his thumb and forefinger on his smooth chin, then dropped it down on the counter once more. Whoever it is...
"Yeah. Includin' the Nolybab Ratz gang,"
"'dey's mortal enemies, Paw?" the young Clakker asked.
"You betch'a bottom moolah, son," its grandpa placed a tattered feathery arm around his grandson. "'dey's always start a stree' riot. Damn pecker heads keep me up all night..."
Ken's eyes darted back and forth in a decision thought on the counter, then spun to the couple.
"'s'cuse me," he raised a truceful paw.
The Clakkers frowned at the Mudokon immediately, the elder's arm slipping off his grandson's shoulder. "Yes?" he asked somberly.
"I've been...over-'earin' yer conversation...d'you know where I can find 'dis...Oddfather?"
The elder frowned disapprovingly to him, jumping off his barstool.
"Son," he shook his head. "You's gonna get'cher self in to a lot'a trouble if you thinkin' of messin' wit' the Oddfather,"
Ken kept silent, listening to the coot's speech.
"He'll put a bullet t'rough yer noggin wit'in a sec'nd. Hell, even wit' a glance of yer eye,"
"I know, ya hag," Ken gritted his teeth impatiently. "I ain't thinkin' of messin' 'im up,"
His eyes explained to the Clakker, his eyes drooping to a concerned frown. He clucked his wrinkled beak away from Ken, then back up.
"Find's the hotel tavern 'round the outskirts of 'dis town," he nodded. "'dere'll be some 'o 'is goons inside. You can't miss 'em. 'dey's ugly son-o'-a-bitches. One named Knuckles Andwige, and the o'der Goonie McGoon,"
Ken nodded his head thankfully, turning back to the 'tender, and placing a distasteful hand on the cool mug of liquid back. He jumped off his barstool, and headed for the double-swinging door, about to open them.
"Son!" the Clakker waved back at him.
Ken's head looked over his shoulder, hiding his menacing grin behind his collar.
"Be careful, a'i'ight? I don't wanna 'nother peckerhead shot in 'dis town,"
Ken's grin faded immediately, suddenly smiling down. He bowed his head at the Clakker once more, and bursted out of the bar, and began to walk the streets of Nolybab, in search of his new employer he would deal with.
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