Page 5 of Executing Malice
Then, it’s just them and me.
Fuck.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” I attempt with my best smile.
“Leila dear, we need your help,” Long, bony fingers thread together and settle on the counter. The chunky gems clustered on each knuckle wink ominously and I almost can’t tear my eyes away. “You must speak to your brother.”
I blink and focus on the jagged edges making up her face. “Reed? Why do—?”
Obviously, it’s unnecessary to ask why. I already know where this is going.
“That ... hooligan has been parked outside your bank every day for ... month! He’s clearly dangerous. He’s casing out the place. You are in danger.”
I am not in danger.
What I am is hungry. I am also annoyed, but that has a lot to do with the former.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m—”
“You are responsible for this establishment. If anything befalls it, it will be on your hands, especially after you were warned.”
I don’t honestly think the bank has ever been robbed. It sounds like it would be exciting. But also...
“I don’t think he would be so obvious if he were ... casing out the place,” I point out. “I think if there was a concern, Sheriff Brewer would look into the matter. But I appreciate your—”
For the third time in two minutes,she cuts me off.
“He could be selling drugs to children. Pornography ... guns! You are being short sighted.”
And you are being an idiot,but I don’t say it.
“I heard he sleeps out there,” Viola chimes in like that is the thing that will change my mind. “In the alley. Under a box.”
It’s hard not to roll my eyes at the ridiculous statement. For one, Jefferson would never allow trash in any alleyway, never mind a whole box for a large, beautifully built man to sleep under. For another, he wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in public with or without a box.
“I will bring it up to Reed,” I relent, realizing that is the only way to get them to go away.
“You are doing the correct thing, Leila,” Dolores praises the way one would a dog who finally mastered the art of sitting for a treat.
Their task complete, the three spin on their sensible heels and stomp back in the direction of the door.
With them gone, I think how this is all Jasmine’s fault. Today would have been her day on shift and she would have had to deal with Dolores and company. Instead, she’s enjoying peace and quiet at home with her family while I poke at the migraine building behind my eyes.
Realistically, the person to blame is Mr. Haberman. The cheap old bastard refuses to hire more tellers but complains whenwe have a line. It has nothing to do with Jasmine taking time off. She deserves the break.
Plus, it’s only for another few days and I won’t have to work open to close every day anymore. I can stay home.
Alone.
Watching movies, reading books, and avoiding human connection because it terrifies me.
I love people.
I love watching them from a distance and admiring the ease with which they simply ... exist. I study them, try to understand them like I’m not one of them.
And maybe I’m not.
It’s hard to say when I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. Every new relationship, whether romantic or plutonic involves exchanging histories. Childhood stories. Memories of past experiences.
