Dave walks down a dark, damp street, neon lights flickering over his leather jacket like they're undecided about whether he's worth illuminating. His hands are in his pockets, humming a catchy tune he picked up in some low-life bar. Everything's going smoothly—until a rough, hostile voice slices through the calm.
"Dave, you son of a bitch!"
Ah, wonderful. Nothing like being greeted with love in the street.
He stops, turns his head, and sees three guys heading toward him with the confidence of men about to make demands. One is huge with a scar across his eyebrow, another wears a red jacket and looks like he hasn't slept in a week, and the third is thin, sharp-jawed, with eyes full of contempt.
"Oh, great. The welcome committee."
"You owe us money, you piece of shit."
Dave raises an eyebrow and places a hand on his chest, feigning shock.
"Me? Owe money? That can't be. Must be some terrible mistake."
"There's no mistake, idiot." Scarface cracks his knuckles. "You owe us a good amount, and we're done waiting."
Dave clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
"See? That's exactly the problem. I'm not the Dave you think I am."
The trio stare at him, confused and increasingly annoyed.
"What the hell are you saying?"
"That I'm not him. Look at me. Do I act like the idiot you're describing?"
Red Jacket laughs with disdain.
"You think just 'cause you stopped insulting your dumb brother, we're gonna believe you're not the same asshole Dave that owes us?"
"Oh, so he insulted his brother, interesting…" Dave nods thoughtfully, as if taking mental notes. "And what else did this Dave do?"
"He had a filthy mouth."
"All the time."
"And he was an arrogant bastard."
"Wow, what a charming guy."
"So stop dicking around and pay up."
Dave exhales deeply, as if burdened by the sheer lack of understanding in the world.
"Look, I get that you're upset. I respect that. But seriously, I'm not the guy you're after."
Scarface eyes him carefully, then crosses his arms.
"Then tell me, if you're not him, where the fuck is the real Dave?"
"Good question. Have you tried looking in a dumpster? Sounds like the kind of place your version of me might end up."
Red Jacket grabs him by the collar and gives him a shake.
"Cut the bullshit!"
Dave raises his hands in peace.
"Alright, alright, I understand the frustration, but think about this—what if I'm an *alternate* Dave? A better version."
"Better?" Scarface scoffs. "Pffft. The Dave we know would never say anything that stupid."
"See? Another piece of evidence I'm not him!"
"All I see is you talking a lot of shit and still not paying us."
"Okay, okay, if it's money you want—and of course it is, why else would we be here—let's just pretend I already paid you."
"What!?"
"Yeah, yeah. A mental transaction. A gentleman's agreement. I imagine paying you, and you imagine getting paid. Saves us all the trouble."
Red Jacket pulls out a knife.
"You know what? I don't care if you talk pretty now or if you've gone polite on us. You either pay or we fuck you up."
Dave eyes the knife, then looks up with a resigned expression.
"How fucked up are we talking? Because if you cut off a finger, I'll warn you—my hands are my best feature."
The big guy grabs his arm and shoves him against a wall.
"Last chance. Pay or we break your bones."
Dave smiles with complete calm.
"You know what? I admire men who stick to their word. Wish my bank was that efficient."
"You think we're idiots?"
"Only if you let me."
Scarface throws a punch, but Dave ducks, and the fist slams into the wall with a dry crack.
"Son of a bitch!"
"Oh, careless move."
Red Jacket tries to stab him, but Dave sidesteps smoothly, and the guy nearly stumbles.
"Come on, guys, are you fighting with your eyes closed?"
The big man swings again, but Dave avoids it with effortless grace.
"This is honestly embarrassing. If this is your fighting level, no wonder you're the ones chasing debts."
The three surround him, seething. Dave sighs.
"Okay, okay, I don't want to get my hands dirty. Why don't we all take a deep breath and negotiate?"
"There are no negotiations. Pay or die."
"Harsh but fair."
Before they can pounce, Dave pulls a crumpled bill from his pocket and tosses it to the ground.
"Look, an advance. Go buy yourselves something nice."
The three stare at him, incredulous.
"Fifty fucking pesos?"
"It's not the amount, it's the gesture."
The big guy glares at him with deep hatred, but finally exhales through his nose.
"If you think this is over, you're dead wrong."
"Oh, I wasn't expecting it to be over. I'm really enjoying our relationship."
They walk away, still shooting daggers at him with their eyes. Dave watches them go and grins.
"Well, and here I thought my day was gonna be boring."
He brushes off his jacket and keeps walking, humming a different tune like nothing ever happened.