Excerpt: Rats

“I don’t want any trouble,” I said, trying to think of a way out of this mess. I’ll fight if I have to, but I take pride in my ability to talk my way out of a situation.

“You know, said the back talker, “it’s a little too late for that. You should have thought about trouble when you agreed to join The Rat Squad.”

And there it was. Just like in every cop book, movie, or TV show The Rat Squad was hated by just about everyone. They were always portrayed as cops that weren’t very good at their jobs and were jealous of the ones who were. Rats were spiteful and mean, hunting good cops who were just doing their job.

At least that’s what the TV, movie and book about cops had said. And I’ll admit it: I sort of believed that stuff myself.

But now, I was on The Rat Squad.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll just take our business somewhere else. No problem.”

The Bruiser I named Jethro Samson smiled. The guy’s gray, chipped teeth were barely visible in the dim light of the bar. “Problem,” he said. “Oh yeah, there’s a problem.”

I could barely see past the Bruiser Cruisers and the shorter but still tough-looking man in between them, but I caught a glimpse of Truth getting up from the table and walking quietly up behind them.

“I’m Jim Marsters,” I said, still hoping to get out of this without a broken nose or a beat up fist. I knew that if I hit Jethro or his seemingly-mute cousin, my hand would hurt a lot more than anything it would land on their muscular (and probably steroid-enhanced) bodies. “Why don’t we settle this over a round?”

“Shut the fuck up,” said the guy in the middle. “I don’t drink with rats. In fact, there’s only one thing you do with a rat.”

I tried to look closer at him without being too obvious about it. Couldn’t place him, but this was a big city, with seventeen precincts. There were a lot of cops to keep track of.

“Put it in a cage and pump it full of drugs or bad food and study it?” I’ll admit that it wasn’t all that funny, but these guys didn’t deserve my best stuff anyway.

“I thought I told you—” the ringleader said. “—to shut your fucking mouth.”

“Actually, you said that I should ‘shut the fuck up’.”

“Can we get to the hitting part now? I gotta take a piss.”