Chapter 232: Ten Million and a Photo Card

The man holding my ten-million-dollar debt ignored me while his favourite horse girl nearly fell over another runner, which made the next few seconds feel expensive. Number seven caught herself at the bend, stayed on her feet and drove straight into the gap the other woman had left.

The head’s tail struck his chair once before he brought it under control. Outside his office, several armed raccoons shouted advice that the runners couldn’t possibly hear, while a security worker switched off the alarm beside a loose track barrier.

"She always takes the inside when people panic," He said, finally turning towards me. "Most people watch the final straight, which is why most people keep paying for my holidays."

"I usually lose money by buying buildings, so it’s nice to meet someone who makes the process look organised," I replied.

His office contained enough racing horse girl figures to give my previous life’s corpse another heart attack, but the little photo card behind his gun seemed to get more attention than any screen.

He closed the door with a remote and asked whether Raymond still bet against the favourites. I said my father preferred arguments where he could threaten the other side, which earned a small laugh and a settlement document across the desk.

The amount was exactly ten million, without a fresh charge for breathing near his carpet or failing to wear shoes. I looked for the paragraph giving him my casino, my women and the organs I hadn’t learned the names of yet, but it wasn’t there.

[System: Read the whole thing before you get excited, mate; you once ate decorative soap because it looked like a lime, so your first impression’s not legal advice.]

The bathroom manufacturer shares some blame for making it smell delicious, but I’ll get Lyra to check the part about my organs. I sent her the document while Decker watched the race through the glass, looking far less offended than most men who wanted a quick signature.

"Read it properly, Mr Vane, because I would prefer this debt finished rather than argued about next month. Your father’s name got you through the door, but the payment needs to come from you."

"It’s my casino, and I’d like to keep enjoying it without checking every visitor for a collection notice," I told him. I disliked how easily he made the difference clear, especially when the raccoon carrying a horse-girl card was behaving like the adult in the room.

Decker moved the payment terminal towards me, and it asked for a fingerprint. We both stared at the screen while the device continued waiting for anatomy I had permanently stopped owning.

"I can offer a bite mark if your system is willing to accept a more personal form of proof," I said. He selected another option without looking surprised, which suggested his office had dealt with worse customer problems.

"My staff keep changing the default to annoy a rival with hooves, although they know I’ll catch them eventually. The species-neutral check should recognise your account without requiring us to remove anything from you."

I liked his staff considerably more after that explanation. The payment cleared, taking ten million from the money Lyra and I had taken from the uncles, and leaving roughly two million before all the smaller costs I preferred not to count.

[System: There you go, ya slippery muppet, you’ve finally paid off a building, which means you can now lose money in it without sharing the experience.]

I’m choosing to hear that as support, because the alternative involves you laughing while I watch ten million disappear. Decker, who I have found out is the name of the head raccoon boss here, stamped the release, signed beneath it and sent both of us a copy before setting the terminal aside.

I waited for the trap to open, but he only asked what I planned to do topside. When I told him I wanted to enjoy myself, his eyes landed on the traffic notice sticking out of the side of my fin.

"The evening has had a few charges I wasn’t expecting, but I’m still ahead of the bloke wearing his wedding cake," I explained. Decker didn’t ask for the rest of that story, which showed excellent judgment for someone whose office had a framed racing uniform.

Lyra confirmed the settlement had reached her and saved a copy with the casino records. Cherry sent six celebration stickers and asked whether being debt-free meant she could buy the ridiculous bath she’d found, so I told her to measure the floor before turning the room into a waterfall.

Number seven crossed the line first, and the building shook with the noise outside. Down on the track, a medic checked her ankle while she caught her breath, giving me a better view of the work beneath all the bright adverts and bouncing ponytails.

"They aren’t mounts, by the way," Decker said as he followed my attention. "A tourist made that mistake last month, and he’s still learning which meals don’t need chewing."

[System: Take the free card, mate; if this meeting turns out to be your last sensible decision tonight, we should have something small enough to frame.]

I thanked him for the warning and left with a stamped release and a free photo card of number seven given to my by the doorman.

The card apparently earned more respect than my family name, because the man wished me luck with real feeling before returning to the replay.

Beyond the gates, steam rose from a row of food trucks, and an adult cow woman passed a meal through a serving window. I whistled at exactly the same moment as the blond bloke hanging upside down from a street sign across the road.

"Lovely, I’ve got stereo idiots for the evening," she called as we looked at each other. The blond man turned his head further, revealing six extra eyes around the main pair, and pointed behind me with a grin that suddenly vanished.

"Don’t turn around too quickly, because those three walking batteries have just found somebody else’s dinner money."