Kit Piper and Blackwulf the Everchanging were supposedly "talking business" over lunch in the old Cafeteria in the Fish Factory and enjoying a meal of steaming-hot Caribbean Fish Chowder as prepared by Carmelita Luis, a middle-aged local Del Mar resident hired as a cook. They were supposed to have been discussing the revised training program Blackwulf had come up with over the last few months which awaited final approval. In reality, they skimmed over it rather quickly and got to talking about other things... like their ex-wives and the joys of the opposite sex.
The intercom rudely interrupted their hearty conversation when a nasally-sounding, amplified version of Shirley's voice broke out and filled the 1950s-era cafeteria dining room: "Kit, there's a call for you on line 2."
"Maybe eet is your ex-wife, eh, comrade?" Blackwulf began, still laughing in his way.
"Maybe, maybe," said Kit as he pushed away from the table and walked, almost dancing as he hummed a James Brown tune ("I Feel Good"), to the phone. It was still a happy day. The sun was shining, the salty smell of sea air wafting in from the beach filled the cafeteria, as every window and door was open. Caribbean Januarys weren't bad. "Hel-lo!" he said cheerily. "Kit here. What can I do ya for?"
There was silence at the other end of the line for a moment. Finally, a voice spoke, "Mr. Piper..."
"That's my name."
"Mr. Piper, I want you should listen, and listen carefully," the voice said seriously, betraying a slight Sicilian-American accent. "Mr. Gambini don't like the reticincy with which ya pay the debts you rightfully owe 'im. Especially considerin' what Mr. Gambini's learned about your little... operation there on that beautiful Caribbean isle o' yours. What'd they call it? 'La Prita' or somethin'? Don't matter. Mr. Gambini knows what kinda expenses you been pullin' down lately. Seems he's a bit ticked off that you've got so much cash-flow goin' on, and you still can't pay yer bills."
Kit's cheerful expression quickly turned to one of dismay as the familiar voice spoke. He picked up the telephone and went around the corner out of anyone's earshot. "I-I've got your money ready," Kit stammered, "it just took some preparing, some saving up, to get it all together. They really don't pay me all that much here, I--"
"Mr. Gambini's not satisfied with da tardiness of yer payments, especially considerin' yer operation. M-b-l? ... 'Mabel Consulting' or somethin' like that? Mr. Gambini says you owe him interest for the past year-and-a-half. Mr. Gambini wants a 30% cut of this consulting biz ya got there."
"Th-thirty percent?!?" Kit exclaimed, running his hand over his bald head. "B-but that's impossible, I don't--"
"'You don't'? You don't what? Don't understand? What Mr. Gambini wants, Mr. Gambini is gonna get. An' we got some insurance ta make sure ya keep yer word." Kit could hear the telephone on the other end sounding somewhat muffled as it was transferred to someone else.
Finally, a voice came over the telephone: "Daddy?"
Kit's heart sank, and blood drained from his face. "Denyce?!!" His daughters had spent the Holidays at home with their mother, his ex-wife, in New Orleans. Their next scheduled visit was just a couple of weeks from now.
"Daddy, I don't like it here," the young girl cried. "I wanna go home!"
"Ohh, baby, I'm gonna come get you... as soon as I can," Kit said, tears beginning to run down his face as he tried to control himself, but slid down the wall to the floor. "I-is Latisha with you?"
The harsh voice was back: "Yer other girl's kept elsewhere, along with 'er ma. If Mr. Gambini finds out you speak ta anyone, especially these Mabel Consulting guys, you hint at it even a whiff... BANG! They're both dead. You try a rescue, or mount some kinda assault on Mr. Gambini or any o' his associates... BANG! They're dead. You succeed in rescuin' one o' yer daughters... BANG! The other one's dead. You try anything to make Mr. Gambini the slightest bit nervous... BANG! They're both dead." He paused to let it fully sink in. "Get the money. One of Mr. Gambini's associates will be expectin' you at the airport in 24 hours."
"Tw-twenty four hours?!! But I can't--"
"Then they're dead. It's your choice. Time ta pay the piper, Mr. Piper. You got 24 hours."
*CLICK*
Kit Piper dropped the receiver and slid down to the floor, sobbing like a little child.
