The puddle from the leaky pipe, left over from yesterday's downpour, still hadn't dried. Tamsey leaned lazily against the wall of his shop, watching the debris circle slowly in the dark water.

The guy opposite him — scrawny, nervous — shifted from foot to foot. A fresh tattoo stood out on his neck, the outlines still glistening with healing tissue.

"Hey, Danny," Tamsey's voice was calm, even a little drawling. "Don't stand there counting crows. What was the deal?"

"I'll pay, Tams, next week."

Tamsey sighed, adjusted his voluminous bun of light hair, and pushed himself off the wall. Two steps — and he was right up close. His palm, missing its pinky finger, landed on the guy's shoulder, fingers digging into the nerve clusters under his collarbone.

"Danny," Tamsey said, almost gently. "I offered you a payment plan. Offered to let you work it off. You said yourself: 'I'll bring it tomorrow.' So what did you bring?"

The guy squeaked, trying to squirm free. Tamsey was smiling, but there was no warmth in his grey eyes.

"Empty pockets, Danny. Promises need to be kept."

He yanked the guy down sharply and drove his knee into his solar plexus. Danny crumpled onto the wet asphalt, gasping for air.

"You'll owe double now. For emotional distress."

Tamsey turned, but caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, in the alley to the left. He squinted.

From behind the dumpsters came the sounds of a struggle — a dull thud, a muffled cry. Then he recognized the back. Borman. Another debtor who'd been successfully hiding for a month.

Borman had someone pinned against the wall. From the thin, pale hand trying to push him away, Tamsey realized — a girl. Small. Borman was clamping his meaty paw over her mouth and groping at her clothes with the other.

Danny was still on the ground, trying to breathe, but Tamsey had lost interest.

For a second, he just stood and watched. He hated Borman a little more than the others — the guy was outright scum. Usually, Tamsey didn't get involved in street fights, but something about the desperation in that thin hand pricked at him differently.

He moved into the alley.

He walked slowly, hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. His light hair caught the faint light in the gloom.

Borman heard the footsteps and spun around.

"Hey, get lost," he snarled. "It's occupied."

Tamsey stopped three paces away. Smiled. That same smile that sent shivers down the spine of normal people.

"Borman," he said calmly. "I've been looking for you. You owe me money. Forget?"

Borman peered, recognized him, and deflated. He let the girl go, but still blocked her exit.

"Tams... This ain't the time. I'll come by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" A dark blue eyebrow rose. "You've owed me for three months, and now tomorrow? What am I, a bank?"

He stepped forward, and the light fell on his face — the scar running from his eye down to his chest, the piercing under his lip.

"Step away from the girl. You and I are going to talk."

Borman hesitated. He was afraid of Tamsey. Not because he was some huge bruiser — he was average, even thin. But because there was something glassy in Tamsey's eyes. Like he wasn't looking at a person, but taking apart a mechanism.

"Yeah, fine, take your slut," Borman muttered, stepping back. "I didn't do anything to her."

Tamsey stepped towards the girl. Not looking at her — all his attention on Borman.

"Easy," he said, unclear to whom.

Then, with a sudden, sharp movement, he stepped towards Borman while simultaneously curling his arm around the girl's back and pulling her against him. A possessive, confident gesture. She was pressed against his side.

Tamsey didn't even look at her. His right hand rested on her waist, fingers with the missing pinky gripping just firmly enough to hold her.

"Hey, Borman," his voice dropped, becoming quieter, but somehow scarier for it. "Why are you putting your hands on my girl?"

Borman's eyes bugged out.

"Your girl? But she..."

"She what?" Tamsey inquired softly.