I need a job and a place to live in...

Grip-of-Steel had enjoyed Taylor's hospitality for a few days after he had been accepted to the pack. Though if someone would have counted the time he spent at the apartment, which went mainly to eating and sleeping, he would have thought that Taylor had a friend that visited him casually.

After Matthew had told him the boundaries of the territory, Grip-of-Steel had used the last few days to exploring his new home. He had used all of his time to walk, run and -occasionally at the night time - climb to different places in the territory. He already loved the place. Not because it would be very beautiful or harmonious or anything, but because it was home. Now he had learned the basics of the territory, which meant that he probably knew the area almost as well as those humans that had lived there for years.

And that brought Grip-of-Steel's mind back to the current goals. Now it was time to him to find a job and a place to live in. Grip-of-Steel had explored the territory in more than one way. He had read all the newspapers Taylor had, listened local radio and talked with some people on the street, trying to get better understanding of the territory's mood and recent history.

When talking to the people he had for the first time really noticed the fact that his mentors had warned him about: Humans feel uneasy around the Uratha. Almost every single time he had spoken to someone Grip-of-Steel had sensed that while they didn't seem to be afraid of him, their body language told something different. Perhaps the humans could sense his Thu Ibiru mindset, or maybe it was some primordial intuition telling them about the predator in front of them. The fact had been fascinating, even entertaining for a couple of times, but Grip-of-Steel knew that it could become a problem later.

And thinking about problems dropped him back to the reality again. A job and an apartment. Yesterday Grip-of-Steel had found an interestind ad in the newspaper. They needed a couple of new paperboys to work in different parts of the city. That meant that there was a bigger chance for him to get to work inside their territory. Grip-of-Steel had also underlined some ads about free apartments. He decided to check the job first.

It took two whole days and all his money to the last buck to get everything done. Grip-of-Steel had started the operation with buying some new, albeit cheap, clothes to use in the job interview. Then he had used a lot of effort to find and buy a cheap and used, but functional cell phone along with a prepaid telephone subscription. Now he had a number, and he didn't even have to give his name to get it. Dressed in a new blue jeans and black t-shirt he had walked to the address mentioned in the job advertisement.

The interviewer had been Robert Taxton, a big balding man in his 40s. He had kept Grip-of-Steel waiting for over half an hour before finally meeting him. Grip-of-Steel had imagined smashing the man's face against the wall a few times to speed things up. The interview had felt more like an interrogation and Taxton had tried his best to intimidate Grip-of-Steel. When the attempt failed, Taxton had tried to find a reason not to hire him. Apparently there was a grave lack of applicants, because he finally hired Grip-of-Steel and even gave him the area he had requested. Now Mr. Summers had a job.

Although getting the job had been irritating experience, finding an apartment proved to be even harder. First two had been rented already, when Grip-of-Steel had called the owner. The third had refused to rent to him. On the second day Grip-of-Steel had visited three more places. First place had been such a mess that he had just walked away and second had been too expensive for him. On the third try Grip-of-Steel found what he was looking for. The place was small and somewhat shabby, but the rent was cheap. The landlord was an easy-going man in his 60s and lived on the side of the city. Grip-of-Steel had told he worked in a newspaper and had got the place. The best part of the deal was that the place was already furnished. Nothing very expensive, but all the necessities, even dishes. Landlord had talked something about the former tenant winning a lottery and leaving without taking almost anything with him. Now Mr. Summers had his own place too.

Grip-of-Steel, or Mr. Summers to his landlord and employer, lied on the bed, hands behind his head. Another small victory, he thought, Maybe not a big battle, but it is still a victory. Before he let the feeling of victory totally overwhelm him Grip-of-Steel took his cellphone and sent messages to Taylor and Matthew. Before he had even put away the phone he had already fallen asleep.