Page 24 of How May I Please You

“My legs a little, but my arms and shoulders for sure,” Journey answers.

She lifts her right arm in the air and rotates it, trying to stretch it out. She maneuvers her arm in a big circle just as Chad returns with a plate in each hand. Journey doesn't see him and accidentally knocks one of the plates out of his hand and onto the floor, where food skitters everywhere and the plate shatters with a loud crash. Everyone in the diner turns to us and Chad turns beet red, dropping the leftover plate on the table so hard that food falls off it.

“What the fuck?” he bellows, glaring at Journey like he could kill her. “Why are you spinning your damn arms around like this is a fucking Pilates class, lady?”

Journey snatches her arm back down, clearly sorry for the accident while being pissed off by how this kid is talking to her. She stands up, anger pouring from her eyes, and this time I don't try to calm her down.

“I didn't mean to do it,” she says, clearly trying to keep her composure. “And I’ll gladly pay for another one since it was my fault, but if you don't quit with the fucking attitude, you're going to cause a problem.”

“Oh, you want a problem over the food you just knocked out of my hand? We can have a problem if you want one. I don't care if you're a girl or not. Don't get in my face after you just ruined the fucking meal.”

Now it’s my turn to stand.

I know he’s just a kid, but my patience is running extremely fucking thin.

Chad looks right at me and raises his fists, squaring up like a boxer in the ring.

“You want to go, motherfucker? Fine, let’s do it,” he barks just as a very large man in a sky blue button-up comes rushing from the back.

“Whoah, just calm down,” the guy says. “Go to the back, Chad. Let me handle this before you get yourself fired.”

“Fired?” Chad screams, falling into a temper tantrum he can’t seem to climb out of. “I’m not the one who knocked over the plate, Mr. Clark, and I already know you're going to take it out of my paycheck. It’s fucking bullshit.”

“I said that I would pay for it,” Journey tries to chime in.

Chad isn’t having any of it. “Fuck you,” he snaps.

“Hey,” I cut in, stepping forward to defend Journey but struggling with keeping my beast at bay. “You might want to watch it. You're on thin fucking ice, kid.”

“Oh, now you're threatening me? Call the cops, Mr. Clark. I’m being threatened at my place of work.”

“Chad, you have got to calm down,” Mr. Clark says, placing a hand on Chad’s shoulder to try and turn him away from us.

“Call the cops?” Journey adds, reaching into her pocket and yanking out her detective badge. “I am the cops, you little shit.”

Journey shoves the badge in Mr. Clark’s face, and the diner goes silent. Journey glares at the kid and who I assume is the manager, waiting for them to say something now that they know she’s a detective, but they have no fight in them now. The kid knows he fucked up and shakes his head before walking away.

“I fucking quit,” he spits over his shoulder, then he walks out of the diner without another word.

“Damn it,” Mr. Clark whispers to himself.

“Are you the manager?” Journey asks, using what she has described as her cop voice.

Mr. Clark turns around, frustration weighing heavily on his face. “Yeah, I am. I’m sorry about all of that. Chad has had it rough lately.”

“Yeah? Well, he seems like a little asshole,” Journey snips. “No worries, though. I’ll pay for both the food and the plate that was broken.”

“That’s fine, but I just lost an employee when I really can’t afford to. So … it’s fine.”

Journey’s eyebrows jump to the top of her head. “Wow. So you're blaming me for that little prick walking out on you?”

“Ma’am, I’m not blaming you for anything. It’s a very frustrating situation.”

“I’m sure it is,” I interject. I pull a one hundred dollar bill out of my wallet and shove it into the manager’s hand before placing an arm around Journey’s waist and turning her toward the door. “Sorry for the inconvenience. That should cover everything. We’re going to go before the situation gets any worse. Thanks for your help.”

“His help?” Journey snips, but I pull her with me, pushing through the exit and stepping out into the sunlight.

I keep my hand on the small of Journey’s back as I guide us to the parking lot, passing a blue sedan with a man wearing a low hat, staring at us like even he knows we almost caused a riot inside. He is probably contemplating whether he should go in after seeing what was clearly visible through the windows. I ignore him and everyone else as I push us forward until we reach the truck. I open Journey’s door for her and close it, finally able to breathe now that she is behind a closed door.

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