TARN & BECK by Roger Nickleby Page B

the difficulties had faded away in his memory. He had grown up in a poor neighborhood where the risk of being found out was lessened, and the teasing too, by the fact that few there could afford the services of a talented rat-catcher like his father.
    The man had worked in more upscale locales, making it less likely that the neighborhood children would find out. And other children’s parents also had to take on demeaning jobs to make ends meet. If anyone had ever found out, they usually made only a few half-hearted remarks that Beck could deal with.
    The worst bully could always be thrown off by the fact that Beck’s father was also known as the best pugilist, or boxer, in the area and had trained his son as well. But after Beck’s father had vanished and Beck moved on to university with a scholarship, the risk seemed to be higher and his efforts at prevention increased.
    He had felt like he could not afford to lose any of the opportunities that he had gained by advancing so far. He had worked and studied too hard and too much to be exposed and sent packing back to the slum he came from.
    He desired a better life for himself, away from the rats and sewers. And so he subsumed himself into this new lifestyle and existence, pretending to be someone that he was not in an attempt to blend in with his fellow students and then his fellow colleagues.
    He developed poor eyesight and started wearing glasses, which made him look more fastidious with his hair neatly combed and slicked back from a clean-shaven face. But even so, Beck had been discovered and now he couldn’t get away from the rats.
    This wasn’t the first time Beck had received a dead rat at Lavonya. The one in his lunch-pail had been especially gross.
    He had heard a suspicious rattle of sorts inside the pail and realized it certainly wasn’t anything he had packed. He shook the pail again and felt the rat flopping around inside. It was rigid, almost fleshy and solid with a little clicking noise as its claws hit the pail walls.
    He had recognized it by sound and feel alone before he even checked, as he could hardly forget what a dead rat corpse felt and sounded like. Especially when he used to carry a burlap bag with about a dozen rat corpses knocking around inside.
    Even though he had tried very hard to forget and gloss over this side of his past, to move on to something better, he still felt like he was just the son of a rat-catcher at times. He was still recognizable to those who had known his father well and had hired him, and by extension his son, to clean out a cellar.
    His father was a good man, a good rat-catcher, and a good boxer, before he vanished and left his son alone. But Beck still felt embarrassed that this was all he was known for, what his father had done, and that he had not yet achieved or done anything to overcome this shame. He wanted to be different.
    A note of discord briefly subverted Supervisor’s sympathy. “Beck, you are a reasonable, intelligent young man, once you’ve recovered your senses. You don’t deserve this treatment.”
    “I appreciate the sentiment.” Beck said somewhat sarcastically.
    The supervisor settled back to business. “However, I cannot tolerate any disturbance in the workplace. A violent outburst like the one you just displayed—Beck, surely you can understand my dilemma here.”
    “What about the person who slipped that rat into my desk? And the paperwork they ruined?” Beck asked.
    “We will find the culprit responsible and punish them severely. Especially if the financial losses from befouling those papers are really as great as you suggest.” The supervisor firmly said.
    “That would dampen their festivities.” Beck moodily muttered.
    “However, I can’t let you work here anymore.” The supervisor insisted.
     
    Soon Beck clutched a box full of his belongings and office supplies under one arm as he walked down a cobblestone road lined with sooty storefronts and houses optimistically named Willow