"My name is Marcus. Trent is my little brother," the man said, his smile failing to reach his cold eyes. "He came home Tuesday with a hairline fracture in his wrist and a severely bruised ego. He said an old man at the park assaulted him."
"Your brother and his friends were harassing people and threatening my son," Agrippa replied evenly, not yielding an inch of ground.
"Trent is an idiot," Marcus agreed smoothly. "But he is my idiot. And in my line of work, respect is the currency. I can't have local contractors thinking my family can be battered by a washed-up cage fighter who stacks wood for minimum wage."
Marcus stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You owe me, Fisher. Ten thousand dollars for the medical bills and the insult. You have until Sunday. If I don't get it, maybe my boys will visit that little apartment of yours. Or maybe they'll just visit the park when you're not around."
Agrippa’s heart turned to ice. The threat against him was nothing. The threat against Larry was a death sentence. "I don't have ten thousand dollars," Agrippa said.