Bhyzanti stood at the end of an alley on Scarsberry Lane in the city of Dundee. He peered down both directions of the street, his head movement twitchy. He tapped his foot repeatedly. Passersby walked along the cobblestone road, some strolled without a care, and some moved with a secret purpose.
Horse and buggies traveled in both directions. Clop! Clop! Plop! Clop! An exceptionally impolite horse left a gift as it trotted by, proud of his generosity. Bhyzanti’s black fir bristled, and he hissed, expressing his annoyance with the horse’s inappropriate behavior as other pedestrians avoided the mess.
Another nervous twitch to his left, and he saw his associate walk toward him. Sledge was a massive man, and people avoided him like the plague. Some folks even crossed the street when they saw him coming, hoping he wouldn’t notice them. His pipe smoked, leaving a tobacco trail behind him like a walking fireplace and chimney. Bhyzanti was just as tall as Sledge but half the width.
“Sledge. Good to see you!” “No need for salutations, cat.” ”What do you need?” asked Bhyzanti. “A few of those new goodie-two-shoes races would be great. A pointy-eared one.” “Perrrrfect. I’ll contact you when I have them.”
Bhyzanti purred as his associate walked back from where he came. He couldn’t wait to fill his pockets with coins, and his mind, already scheming.
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