Limitless Evolution As a Snake

The delivery driver tried to explain his extra fees while Bridget moved the disputed crate out of his truck, which immediately improved his interest in explaining them accurately.

She stood beside the loading bay with the crate touching her boot, having checked that its center was within three meters before selecting it. Nothing had become lighter, so she left the thing resting on the ground instead of learning an expensive lesson about toes.

The cow lady checked its shipping label against the paid order. Two fees belonged to an entirely different address, while the third described special handling that apparently consisted of the driver refusing to open the rear door until somebody argued.

”I respected a man who charged for being annoying,” I told him. ”I’d built most of my family relationships around doing it for free, which now seemed like a missed opportunity.”

He removed the wrong fees and admitted his dispatcher had added them. We didn’t steal his truck or pretend an inflated invoice required execution, although Old Mate seemed disappointed by the lack of room for either suggestion.

[System: Fair enough, mate. Start the morning with ordinary theft prevention, then work up to a felony after lunch when everyone’s had a chance to stretch.]

I was recovering from a pressure rig, and I’d appreciate a schedule that allowed time for snacks between crimes.

Inside the crate sat replacement stage fittings and a small promotional display shaped like a cow riding a wave. The cow lady stared at it for several seconds before asking who had authorized the display.

Lukas pointed at the opening-night order sheet. The previous manager had paid for it before disappearing, which meant we now owned a decorative object that made the club look like a dairy product having a midlife crisis.

I loved it immediately. Bridget said that wasn’t the same thing as a sound marketing decision, then photographed me beside it because she apparently intended to preserve evidence of both kinds of mistake.

Lyra called from Twawi while we worked out where to put it. Two men had arrived claiming they were collecting a replacement lock payment on behalf of the family, even though nobody at the casino had ordered new locks.

She had checked the claim before letting them beyond the public area. Cherry noticed one man trying to pocket a staff key from the counter and moved the whole key tray back beside herself before he could close his hand.

They left when Lyra called actual security. She sent me the photograph of the false invoice, which carried the same collection-company mark we had been following since the stage incident.

That wasn’t proof the two men were elite assassins or part of a new secret order. It was proof that my uncle’s favorite collection outfit remained interested in places where I kept people and things I liked.

I told Lyra to arrange replacement cylinders with the casino’s regular locksmith and keep control of the real keys. Paying for a sensible precaution annoyed me less than letting a familiar scam work because I was busy admiring a plastic cow.

Bridget heard my side and put the display photo away. She asked whether the family had finally tired of losing machinery and decided to become irritating in smaller, more personal ways.

”They’d always had range, sweetheart. Being cunts professionally required practice in several departments.”

Old Mate suggested sending Hansen a fruit basket containing nothing but lemons and an invoice for the emotional effort. I seriously considered it until another message arrived from an unknown buyer through the casino’s public business address.

The buyer wanted to discuss purchasing an interest in Cobra’s Casino. The offer was brief, expensive-looking and unsigned beyond a company contact number I didn’t recognize.

I didn’t accept money or sell anything by reading it. I forwarded it to Lyra for checking, then sent a deliberately ridiculous response saying I might consider a meeting for a serious deposit and four matching rubber ducks.

The ducks mattered because I had become tired of strangers arriving with threats instead of useful gifts. I didn’t specify access rights or send a meeting token yet, and I expected the buyer to recognize a polite request to piss off.

[System: Dangerous assumption, mate. Rich people hear a stupid condition and reckon they’ve discovered an exclusive club, especially if nobody can explain why it costs so fucking much.]

If someone brought four ducks to a casino meeting, I at least wanted to see the expression on the receptionist’s face.

The mermaid specialist arrived before I could invent more business terms. She carried a photo of her suspended performance frame, the one fitted for her routine and marked with a distinctive pearl pattern along the support.

Her equipment had been collected from storage that morning under a charity-event booking she hadn’t approved. The warehouse had accepted a release sheet bearing our club’s name, and now the frame appeared in an advertisement for a family-sponsored fundraiser on the surface.

She wasn’t asking me to flirt my way through the problem. She wanted the actual rig back before her next performance, preferably without discovering I had traded it for an animal with extra teeth.

”That felt unnecessarily specific,” I said, while Bridget made an unhelpful noise beside me. ”I could make one terrible pet decision without it becoming my entire professional reputation.”

The advertisement loaded on my phone. A smiling imitation of my face sat above a claim that Udder the Sea supported the event, with Hansen’s family mark printed neatly underneath.

The picture came from the dock footage, making the stolen equipment and borrowed reputation part of the same cheap little trick.

Lukas studied the picture, then asked whether being a fake charity mascot counted as a promotion from whatever I had been yesterday.

I stared at my uncle’s logo beside my stolen face and the mermaid’s stolen equipment. Apparently the bastard wanted another public show, and I was beginning to think he should have been much more careful about choosing the entertainment.