Too late,pal.
My knee arches, lifting off the ground, my other foot firmly in place.
“A hemorrhoid! A pain in my ass that won’t go away.” Remarking at the same time as my knee connects with his groin, in one hard, swift move.
Ignoring his shrieks of pain, I step over his crumpled body, now in a ball on the floor.
“You bitch!” is hollered by someone as I pass Alma on my way to the kitchen with a satisfied expression on my face.
Those dishes aren’t going to clean themselves.
two
Rory
ThesighIhearfrom behind me as I turn off the ‘Open’ sign is all I need to know. My ass is about to get grilled.
I toss my apron on the counter, perching on one of the worn-out barstools. A scornful, arms-crossed Alma staring back at me.
I messed up. I know.
I tried to stay calm. Truly, I did.
They push. I push back harder.
Obnoxious people seem to have a way of finding me. It’s like a force constantly pulling at me, like a magnet attracted to metal. We connect every time, creating a force field of destruction to anyone who gets in our way.
Alma is a burly, midsixties woman with dark eyes, plump cheeks, and brown skin. A patch of light freckles complementing her pert nose.
“I messed up; I know.”
Her features stay unimpressed. An uncracked foundation.
“Come on, are you going to do this?” I smile wider, hoping to lift her spirits. Her shoulders rise, something between a laugh and a huff escaping.
My glower reaches record-breaking status. Her eyes still filled with disdain.
I hate this tactic. It’s the banter I live for, look forward to. Our conversations are often about unthinkable topics. They might seem weird to outsiders, our sense of humor crude, but to us, it is as easy as breathing at times.
It’s the looks she gives me. Her deep-brown eyes probe their way into my soul, gutting me.
Works. Every. Single. Time.
And the old crow knows it too.
“Come on, it could have been worse.”
He deserved more.
“I could have poured hot coffee on his lap. That would have scarred him for life,” I point out.
I sink back down in my seat when her expression stays bland. Not even a headshake, just standing there, listening to our one-sided conversation.
She stares for a long moment before she responds. “Do what exactly?”
“Come on, Alma, we both know what happened,” I say hastily. “He’s lucky a knee to his balls is all he got,” I mumble as her fingers continue to tap along her arms. Not amused.
If I hadn’t been on the clock and this was somewhere random, this would have been a lot worse for him. Money is what pays the electricity, so I have to be smart about it.