That's what they always told me. Bob and Lauri, my parents, were as different as they come.
However, they both agreed on that lesson. The first time they had to tell me that particular piece
of advice was in the 1st grade. Too bad that philosophy didn't stick' Why did I just think of
that, now? I step off my Ducati and take in the building in front of me. Its sickly light filters
through the filmy windows only competing with street lamps, the rest of the neighborhood gathering
their pillows over their heads in an attempt at sleep. My boots clunk on the cracked concrete and
bass vibrates my bones. The decrepit building pulsed with life. People stream out of the large,
wooden double doors, swagger down the front stairs, climb the steel railings, and leaned against its
brick fa'ade. Several of them lit their smokes at blew out smog that traveled in my direction.
Marlboro Reds. My hand itched for the smokes no longer occupying my breast pocket of my leather
jacket. Instead, I grab my worn box of matches and slide it open and shut. The comforting feel of
the match box under my fingertips calms the need for a cigarette. Striding through the milling
people, I pressed my way into the crowd. Heat intensifies and I'm trapped in a small room filled
to the brim with people. Oh god, I hate small spaces. darn that Academy. The Academy is the
'school' where I spent the past ten years of my life at. It's for the bad kids. Bob and Lauri
sent me there for 'rehabilitation'. They never knew what they were getting into. One day I was
home, the next I was in a cold, hard, sterile room sharing a bunk bed with Roxy the Weightlifter.
After I got out, there were certain debts to be filled. This is my recompense. I make heads turn as
I enter the building. My leather getup not being as commonplace as usual, I drew many stares.
Leather might not be as popular as jeans, but they save you in a scrape. If you hit the road, at
least you'll keep you're skin. I look through the throngs of people, searching for Billy
Sanders. Brown hair, young, green eyes, impressive build, surrounded by chicks: that's how they
described him to me. The building's opening room's wallpaper peels in pulls away in the corners.
The ceiling's holes gape into the rooms above, allowing sounds of upstairs escapades to travel
downwards. A stereo system graces the corner of the room, a DJ remixing the heavy music. People
slide over each other, maneuvering their way through the masses. Some head toward the couch with its
springs exploding from its seats or to the kitchen where I barely see the end of a beer funnel. The
only other room I can see holds potential, its scant lighting illuminating only the barest of
objects. Billy, Billy' Where are you Billy? A high backed couch in the next room catches my eye in
between partiers. In it is a young man around his early twenties surrounded by scantily clad women.
In front of him are two very large men whose broad shoulders nearly obscured my view completely.
There you are. I pushed my way through the door and was halted by some thick forearms, meaty fists,
and a barrel chest. Running into the crossed arms in front of me, I looked up and saw a pair or
shades grinning down at me. Bouncers. Smiling, I said, 'Can I please talk to Billy?' I even
batted my eyelashes. The bouncer warily steps aside to let me pass and followed me towards Sanders.
I took inventory: several partiers, one bouncer behind, two beefy buddies in front, six women, one
Billy Sanders. Sauntering up to him, I stepped in between his body guards and yelled over the music,
'Billy Sanders? How's it going?' I begin conversationally. Billy ignores me, so I move in
closer. Practically in the lap of the woman next to him, I tell him, 'Hamilton wants his payment.
Since you don't have anything as collateral, you need to pay me your debt or I'm just going to
have to take you with me.' He merely raised an eyebrow at me. I continued, 'Hamilton sent me to
pick up his money and I'm here to collect.' The Collector. That's me. His eyes did nothing, no
bulging in fear. He didn't know me. darn, this isn't gonna end peacefully. 'Hamilton sent you?
Some little girl? Tell you what; I'll pay Hamilton back some other time. Another week or so and
I'll have the rest of the dough together.' I mentally sighed. Why can't they just pay on time?
Shrugging my shoulders, I casually let him know, 'Sorry, Billy, but Hamilton wants his money. Now,
we can either do this the hard way or the easy way. Your choice.' He let out a deep laugh and
clutched his side. A tear even escaped his eye. He's so going to pay for that. I do have a
reputation to uphold. 'Do you really think you can force me? That's precious. Guys, take her
outside.' Sweaty hands grasp my upper arms and attempted to force me out. The drag me passed the
table and chairs when I break their hold. I throw a right hook into one body guard and using my
momentum, followed the movement through until I faced the other. Ducking his lazy punch, I deliver a
high kick to his face and he drops like a stone. The bouncer behind me tries to tackle me. As he
comes in, I sidestep, grip his slinky jacket, and throw him into the wall. His body connecting shook
the building and dust and popcorns rain down from the sagging ceiling. The first body guard gets up
but I pick up a stray chair and hit him over the head with it. The chair splinters and he hits the
floor with a thud. Good night. 'See what happens when you roughhouse?' Billy's finally
realizes what he's gotten himself into. His eyes stay the same, slightly wider, but I can taste
his fear. Don't taste the same as it use to, huh, Jess? The whole room had frozen around us.
'Now, Billy, you know I don't want to hurt anyone else-' Billy leaped from the couch at me. I
swung my fist into his face and he crumpled to the ground. '-unless I have to,' I finished. I
dragged Billy out of the building without any interruption. People backed away and left me my space.
That's how it ought to be. Putting Billy into the dark, tinted car that had arrived to take him I
took a moment to think, Violence does solve some things.