“We haven’t,” the broad guy confirms. He and his buddy are walking over now, and Mark tries to scoot around the edge of the dining table without being obvious about it. “And, if everything goes smooth, we won’t meet again.”
“You remember Simon Dupuis?” asks the thinner guy (who's not all that thin really). He stops advancing to cross his arms and stare. The only thing separating him from Mark is the dining room table (and the mountain of laundry that Cory and Jay have piled on top of it), and that isn’t a sturdy enough barrier to provide Mark with much peace of mind.
The name does ring a bell, though. Mark can’t remember how he knows Simon Dupuis, but, if the guy’s not famous, then they must’ve met somewhere. “Um,” he hedges. “It sounds familiar?”
“What about Premier College Finance? Does that sound familiar?”
“Oh,” Mark says. Yes, he took out student loans from several places; that was definitely one of them.
“So you know where this is going, right? You owe Simon money; Simon sells your debt to us; now you owe us money.”
Mark didn’t know that was legal. Then again, maybe it’s not. A question for another day since he definitely doesn’t plan on asking these two. “Okay,” he tries instead. “Thanks for letting me know?”
He’s pretty sure all the loans he took out included a six-month grace period following graduation, so, on the slim chance that these guys are legit, he still has a while before anyone comes collecting.
The broad guy leans forward, looming over the laundry mountain to stare Mark in the face.
Mark swallows.
“You’re not all that bright, are you?” the guy says. “We don’t visit people to pass on messages.”
The thinner guy is more direct. “We want the money.”
“Right,” says Mark. He glances towards the arch that opens onto the entry hall and living room, hoping that Jay or Cory will come to his rescue. They’re probably not the best back-up, but better than Andy or Dave, and definitely better than nothing. “Right,” Mark repeats when no one shows up. “Well, um… I don’t have it now? Like, I thought I had a lot more time. But!” he’s quick to add as the thinner guy’s face darkens and the broad guy’s hands clench menacingly around Cory’s running shorts. “But! I graduate in a month, and then I’ll have a job, and I can pay you back then, okay? How does that sound?”
“A month?” the thinner guy repeats. Mark can’t tell quite how he means it, and the uncertainty sets his stomach twisting like a licorice stick. The broad guy has abandoned Cory’s shorts in favor of a fork that someone left lying on the table, and he points it right at Mark’s throat. Mark has never felt more threatened by cutlery.
“Right,” Mark says, deciding that it’s probably best to keep talking if he wants to avoid becoming the victim of fork violence (and the subsequent hospital fees). “I’m in college, so I don’t have money now, and, I mean, I took out the loans in the first place because my family can’t afford it, so it’s not like they have the money, so really there’s no way for me to pay you back until I get a job, which… I actually already have a job lined up, but I have to graduate first. So that will be in a month. And then maybe another two weeks before I actually get paid, but basically a month. Okay?”
He glances between the two. The thinner guy still has his pale eyebrows pulled low, and the broader guy keeps the fork aimed at Mark’s esophagus for another minute before thunking it back down on the table.
Mark’s stomach untwists fractionally.
“A month,” the broad guy says. “Not a month and two weeks. A month. You tell them to pay in advance. And don’t think about skipping town. We found you here; we’ll find you wherever else you go.”
“Yes. Good,” says Mark. “Great. Thanks. Awesome.”
“We’ll find you,” the thinner guy repeats. He hasn’t stopped glaring, but he takes the first step towards the arch and the entry hall.
“Cool, yes,” Mark nods… anything that will speed their departure. He trails them (maintaining a solid, ten-foot distance) through the archway and to the front door.
The broad guy pauses with his hand on the knob, and Mark nearly has a heart attack, but all the guy says is, “One month,” and then he and his friend are gone.
Mark wobbles back to the main staircase and sits down on the second step. Part of him droops with relief that he has survived fully intact, but the larger portion recognizes that he hasn’t solved much of anything. If he was actually graduating in a month, maybe things would be okay, but he’s not, and, though he doesn’t remember exactly how much he borrowed from Premier College Finance, he knows it’s not the sort of figure he can whip up in thirty days. His friends are all broke; any job he gets will pay shit; and he’s not going to ask his parents.
Realistically, he should probably do some research and figure out if this is something the police could handle. But the two guys didn’t seem worried about that, so it’s probably not.
Mark stays sitting on the staircase until Cory wanders by on his way to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Cory says. “You want to join us for the next round of Mario Kart?”
Mark contemplates the offer for a moment. He supposes that, at this point, it's not like wasting an hour on the couch can make his life significantly worse. “Yeah, sure,” he relents. “Why not?”
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