We Can Pay Off All Your Debt for You by Michael A. Destro

We Can Pay Off All Your Debt for You by Michael A. Destro

On his way out of his apartment, Pete Popescu spotted the avocado-green envelope sticking out over the door’s threshold. He stooped down and picked it up. Skoupizo Archeological Society—bordered on each side by three intersecting red spades—was written in the upper left corner in fancy script font, no return address underneath. It wasn’t a name he recognized. He wasn’t even remotely interested in archaeology.

 Who in the hell drops this off at six in the morning? Pete wondered on his way outside. Way too early for the mail carrier to be delivering junk. Probably Carla, his neighbor down the hall, had slipped it under the door. She worked at the natural history museum and was always posting fliers for some new exhibit or lecture on the community board.

 As he passed Carla’s apartment, 3610, Pete stopped and listened by the door. He heard a man’s loud grunting on the other side, the bed squeaking. The man screamed, “Come on, baby.” Carla’s high-pitched cry made Pete’s lips quiver. He lingered outside, waiting for her to orgasm—she always announced when she came—and then, when she came, he hurried down the stairs. He’d do anything to be her guy.

 Pete tossed the envelope in the recycling bin, then ran toward the corner bus stop.

 Once at work, Pete sat at his desk and turned on his computer. In the seconds it took for the log-in screen to pop up, he closed his eyes and imagined Carla squeezed tight under his desk, her voluptuous lips wrapped around his cock, her tongue……

 Someone tapped Pete sharply on the shoulder. He jumped and swung at the person.

 “Easy, slugger,” his co-worker and friend Sal said, dodging the blow. “I come in peace.”

 “Sorry,” Pete said, yawning.

 Sal sat at the desk beside Pete. “You might wanna go and splash some water on your face.”

 “I’m fine.”

 “Don’t bullshit me, friend. You’re no longer the bad ass football player you were in high school. In fact, lately, you’ve been looking a lot like a cross between the Olsen twins and Uncle Fester.”

 “Fuck you, friend,” Pete said, flipping Sal off. He sat up and logged into his computer. “I’ll be fine.”

 “Almost, Little Miss Hitler just walked in. Better not let her catch you sleeping again, my friend.

 Pete shuddered at the thought of anyone from upper management catching him napping and then firing him because of it.

 Sal rubbed his chin, indicating Pete’s five o’clock shadow, and gave him a thumbs up.

 Pete half-smiled. He pulled up his outbound call spreadsheet on his desktop. On it, a list of one hundred names, each one with a profile link. Each profile contained a list of a person’s unpaid department store credit card debt, all their contact information, as well as a list of their employment and residential history. If he didn’t collect three thousand by the end of the day, it’d be the fourth week he’d fail to meet his weekly goals.

 Between the eighth and ninth call, Pete caught his eyelids drooping. Sal leaned across, snapped his fingers in front of Pete’s face. “You gotta stop with this working three jobs thing, man.”

 “I’m fine.” Pete stood up and stretched.

 “No. You’re not,” Sal said. He stood and motioned left with his head in the breakroom’s direction. “Come on. Let’s get a cup of coffee.

 Sal was right. Pete wasn’t fine. For the past three weeks he averaged less than four hours of sleep a night.

 They walked into the break room. Pete sat down at a long hard plastic table while Sal went and got each of them a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “So, when are you quitting this masochistic shtick? Stick to one job?”

 “You got the winning lottery numbers?” Sal must have won something. Three years ago, his friend had been over a million dollars in debt and a psychological mess. Whatever luck Sal had, Pete wished some of it would rub off on him.

 Pete shook his head, trying to rub out the sleep from his eyes. He worried he’d be too tired to tend bar at the tavern tonight, then afterward, work security at the Holiday Inn.

 Sal mixed in creamer and sugar in each cup. “How much do you pay for college again?”

 “Sixty thousand. Why?”

 “Sixty thousand?” Sal, a paper coffee cup in each hand, clutched at his heart and spilled coffee on his shirt. “Shit, he said, jumping back. He kicked at the tiny lake on the floor and headed toward the table. “Look what a degree in world literature got you!”

 “A job with you?”

 “Bingo bongo!” Sal slapped the coffee cup down in front of Pete. Hot coffee splashed onto Pete’s already coffee-stained shirt. “I never went to school. Look at me. Forty thousand a year. Got my own pad. Been debt-free free a few years. Make enough money to screw whomever I want.”

 Sal sat down across from Pete. He blew on his coffee and then took a sip.

 Pete searched his friend’s eyes. It was meetings like this that always landed him in trouble. A little over three months ago, Sal had the hair brained scheme to throw a Halloween office party in Pete’s apartment. Almost everyone got crazy drunk. They trashed the place. If it wasn’t for Sal’s fast talking, Pete would have been thrown out. And to think it was Sal’s idea which caused all the problems in the first place.

 The silence continued. Sal stared at Pete and nodded, asking silent questions, then stroked his moustache and answered himself under his breath.

 The silence made Pete squirm, feel alone. Why had Sal suddenly dropped him from the conversation? When at last he couldn’t take the silence anymore, he asked, “What?”

 “What other debt do you have?” Sal asked.

 “You mean aside from my student loan?”

 “No,” Sal said with great sarcasm. “Aside from your grandfather’s student loan! Of course, yours.”

 “Oh.” Pete graduated from college fifteen years ago. Since then, he has accumulated credit card debt from purchasing a new car, various store credit card debt from buying a new computer, furniture, and other items, as well as rent, phone, and utility bills. Additionally, he has incurred hospital debt from his three-week stay last year.

 When Pete couldn’t find a high enough-paying job to cover the basics, the interest from his loans made the dream of being debt-free something he’d his kids would end up inheriting from him. He hated being in debt so much, he slit his wrists. If it wasn’t for Sal stopping by for a beer, Pete would have died. As soon as the doctors deemed him well enough to return home, Pete thought of killing himself, but then he saw Carla moving into his building. He thought maybe if he couldn’t live for himself, she would be worth living for.

 “So, how much trouble are you in?” Sal asked.

 Pete shrugged. “Three, maybe four hundred thousand. That doesn’t include the basics.”

 Sal leaned in close. He scanned the room, then once he confirmed they were alone, he whispered, “How would you like to be free from debt?”

 “There’s no getting out of debt. It’s like the 1% gets off on keeping us imprisoned in poverty.”

 “Man, I don’t care about that shit. Just answer the question. Would you like to be completely debt-free?”

 “Of course. Who wouldn’t?”

 “What would you do to make it so?”

 “Get a better job?”

 Sal slapped Pete’s head. “Stop thinking so much.” He scooted the chair closer, leaned in close to Pete, their noses almost touching. “Go on and ask me how I can live in this fucked up system, on such a fucking joke of a salary and not be struggling?”

 “I don’t know. How can you?”

 Sal clasped his hand around Pete and pressed his forehead against his own. “No, ask me. Ask: Sal, how can you live in this fucked up system on such a fucking joke of a salary and not be struggling?”

 “Sal, how can you—” Pete began.

 “Sh! Not so loud.”

 Pete lowered his voice and repeated the question.

 “Did you look at the envelope I left by your door this morning?”

 Pete’s silence spoke for him.

 “You threw it away, didn’t you?”

 “I thought it was junk mail.”

 “Not to worry,” Sal said, patting Pete’s shoulder. He reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet, withdrew a business card and handed it to Pete. The card was the same avocado green as the envelope and Skoupizo Archeological Society the only words written on it. The same three red spades bordered each side of the company’s name. Again, no visible address.

 Disappointment soured in Pete’s mouth. He knew its taste well. “How are they gonna help me?”

 “Go there.”

 Pete arched his brows.

 “Go on, Pete. See what they say”

 “If they helped you, why are you still here? You hate this place as much as I do.”

 “For you, friend.”

 “Why are you telling me this now?”

 “You weren’t the right kind of desperate before.”

 Pete pulled away from Sal and took a deep breath. He leaned on his knees, turning the card over and over several times. “There’s not even an address.”

 “Let’s go now,” Sal said. standing. “I’ll take you there.”

 “We walk out, Amanda’s gonna fire us.”

 “Stay here. I’ll go and settle things with her.” Sal gave Pete a firm pat on the back. “If you accept the society’s help, you can kiss this fucking place good-bye.”

& & &

The oval-shaped glass building was no bigger than a shipping container. Its lights were so bright, Pete had seen them half a mile away. He’d often passed this building while on the way to the Holiday Inn and assumed it was merely a random artistic structure, never once considering that someone actually worked inside. No signage letting people know they’d arrived at Skoupizo Archeological Society. On the outside looking in, Pete observed only an empty space. Its sterile whiteness made him think this could be a surgeon’s paradise.

 They entered through a small sliding glass door. The single dark square in the building’s center was actually a stairwell going down. Light poured in from above and met the light from below.

 Pete followed Sal down the stairs and into another large space.

 An open air terrarium—must have been at least twenty yards—sat on the side of a large study. A large platform hung over the terrarium. Pete thought he saw someone moving around on top. Giant eucalyptus trees grew inside, their branches stopping short of touching the glass ceiling. Ferns and tall jungle grass surrounded the trees.

 A man with a physique of one who consumed mostly starches ran out of the grass and slammed into the terrarium glass. He pounded on it, screaming, “Let me out!” The grass waved behind him as if many things were coming from all directions.

 Several gut churning shrieks made the man pound on the glass harder. “Mercy,” he cried.

 Pete’s expression dropped along with the terror pulling at his stomach. Three one and half-foot feathered reptilian dinosaurs pounced on him.

 Uncertain of his own fate, Pete turned toward the stairs and ran. He feared what Sal may have in store for him.

 Made clumsy from lack of sleep, Pete’s legs buckled out from under him. He crashed face first onto the ground. His teeth clattered against each other as he struck the hard glass floor.

 “Don’t go,” Sal said, walking up to Pete. “You haven’t listened how they can help.”

 Pete rolled onto his side. Before he could shield his eyes from the terrarium, he witnessed the dinosaurs razor like teeth gnash against each other as they tore the man apart. Each creature fought each other for a bigger piece of meat. Within seconds, all that remained of the man was shredded flesh.

 “This isn’t right,” Pete stuttered.

 Sal extended his hand. “Come on. Get up.”

 “Did you know about any of this?” Pete gritted his teeth, holding back the pee that threatened to spray down his leg. “What the hell is going on?”

 “Come on, there’s someone you’ve gotta meet.”

 “I want out of here,” Pete said, clasping Sal’s hand.

 “Just hear him out,” Sal said. He helped Pete onto his feet.

 “Hear who out?”

 A man with a thick Texas twang shouted from the above platform. “Howdy,” he said, descending onto a smaller platform. “Surprised by our Velociraptors? Don’t worry, fear makes your death last longer than it actually takes.”

 When the little man reached the ground, he stepped off the platform. Dressed in a heavy white bib apron and wearing tinted goggles, the man barely reached Pete’s stomach. He slipped on oversized white rubber gloves and laid them on the smaller platform. Each of his long fingernails was painted with red spades. A large mole protruded from his mouth’s left side.

 “Are you in debt again Mr. Sal?” the man asked. He approached Pete, walked circles around him, and sized him up. “This one doesn’t have enough meat to satisfy the children.”

 “Oh, I’m not giving up as raptor food,” Sal said. “This is my friend, Pete Popescu. The one I’ve been telling you about.”

 The small man rolled a chair alongside Pete and then climbed on top of it.

 Pete shirked away from the man. “What is this place?”

 The little man opened his arms wide as if welcoming Pete into his home. “An apocalypse waiting to happen. Justice. Fate. That which we thought extinct has returned to us.” He scratched his mole. “Are you in debt… Mr. Pete?”

 Pete drew in quick breaths. He nodded and took a step back.

 “How much?”

 “Four hundred thousand dollars.” Another step back. From the corner of his eye, he spied the stairs going up.

 “Does that include interest?” the little man asked.

 “Probably a lot more before I ever get caught up.” Pete took two steps back.

 “What would you do in exchange for us making all your debt go away?”

 “Not sure what you’re getting at.” Three steps back. Six more steps and he’d be up the stairs and out the door.

 “Let’s say for every five people you feed the children with, we’ll settle any debt of your choice. Bring us someone this coming Saturday. What is that? July 1^st. Certainly, you understand we must approve of your selection. Diabetics are preferred. The children so love junk food.”

 The proposition churned Pete’s stomach like so much raw buttermilk. He rushed outside into the street and vomited.

 Once he finished puking, Pete headed for work at Rigger’s Tavern. He thought of telling the authorities about the society, but worried they’d think him crazy. First thing in the morning, he’d bring a camera, revisit the terrarium, and capture proof. Other people’s lives were at stake. Warning them would be the right thing to do.

& & &

From the moment Carla entered Rigger’s Tavern, Pete’s heart raced, his face flushed, his cock hardened. Lucky, the place had mostly emptied of the truckers and red necks. Pete’s shift finished in half an hour. Carla wore a brown leather miniskirt that hugged her wide, goddess-shaped hips the way he dreamed of hugging her. He imagined pinning her on a bed of fossilized bones, taking turns riding each other into ecstatic pastures, grinding harder and harder until one of them begged for death.

 Carla sat at the end of the bar, far removed from the two female college students at the other end. She ordered a pint of IPA. While he tapped the ale into her glass, Pete struggled not to stare.

 “You live in 3602, don’t you?” Carla said. She traced the rim of her glass with a long, partially colored red fingernail.

 “Yeah.”

 “Pete, right?” She extended her hand.

 “And you’re Carla,” he said, shaking hand. Her grip was firm. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

 She blushed. “What makes you say that?”

 “A woman alone on a Friday night. I’m just saying.”

 “Just saying what?”

 “Just saying if I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t be leaving you alone.”

 “And what would we be doing?”

 From the corner of his eye, Pete spotted an old man approach the bar. He sighed in relief at the distraction. No way he’d answer such a loaded question. Since he may already have lost his day job, he couldn’t risk losing another.

 Right at midnight, Pete’s shift ended. A few women had come in, pulling his attention away from Carla. Every few minutes he exchanged glances with her. She’d smile. He’d look away. The rest of the time, he kept temptation at bay and focused on the other customers.

 Before Pete headed into the bathroom to wash up, he went to tell Carla goodnight, but she had gone.

 While washing his face and hands, he saw a long, feminine leg kick the stall door open. He raised his head and saw Carla’s reflection in the mirror. She sat on the toilet, the lid down. Her legs were spread apart, revealing the outline of her panties.

 “I’ve been seeing you staring at me,” she said. “Know you like listening to me outside my door every morning.” She beckoned him closer. “Well?”

 Pete stumbled toward Carla. As he neared her, someone clobbered him from behind. He fell hard against the toilet. A snap, like bones breaking, resounded in his ears. Had he not woken up sometime later, he would have sworn he had cracked his skull.

 When Pete opened his eyes, he found himself at the edge of a monstrous-sized swimming pool. He heard Sal and Carla talking.

 “—with him and you’ll be free from your student debt,” Sal said.

 “I couldn’t have done it without you, baby,” Carla said.

 “See what a waste of a business administration degree is? Your debt may be forgiven, but you’ll never get all that time back.”

 Hearing the two of them kiss made Pete tense up. Why did he feel like he was being punished for getting an education? He groaned.

 “He’s waking up,” Carla said.

 “You can fix that,” Sal said.

 Pete groans. They were going to feed him to the velociraptors. If so, then what were Sal and Carla still doing here? Surely, they didn’t want to be the dinosaurs’ dinner.

 Carla bent down, her fingernails clamped around Pete’s shoulder. “Kronosaurus will be happy to finally eat you,” she said, rolling him into the water.

 For a split second, Pete saw the red spades painted on Carla’s fingernails. The last thing he saw was nothing but teeth. Lots and lots of teeth.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Michael A. Destro 2025