Page 96 of Five
“I’ll have toast and a sunny-side up for breakfast tomorrow.” I push a fist up in the air in triumph.
“What’s the word you use? You’re daft as a bush!” Clover insults me before getting out of the car and slamming the door.
I lean on his seat until I reach the car window to look at him pacing. “I’m a plonker at times, can lose the plot, and be like a dog with two dicks. But I’m not daft, you tosser!”
“I didn’t understand a word—” He suddenly halts to stare at something on the left. “Isn’t that your stalker? Ronny something,” Clover asks me.
My eyes quickly laser focus on the two blokes talking outside a 7-Eleven a block away. Fuck me sideways, it’s Chimney—I could recognize those overly tight jeans and long dry hair anywhere. He’s clearly using his lame charm on someone. I haven’t seen him since the café, but I’ve never been alone after that. Gabe is always with me when I go out, and Arnold drives me around when he isn’t.
“I have some questions for him. We arrived early?—”
“Due to your crazy driving,” Clover feels the need to say.
“I can spare some time. Care to help me?” I feel my evil smile curling my lips as I look from Clover to Sari.
“What do you have in mind?” Sari grabs the headrest of the passenger seat to move forward.
“Misdirection,” I whisper darkly, moving my eyes toward Wednesday.
Five minutes later, Sari and Clover are strolling down the street toward him, smiling and chitchatting. I’ve rounded the block and am walking out from the alley that emerges a few feet from the prick. He’s too busy cornering his prey near the wall to notice me. But the prey sees Wednesday. “What is that?” he screams like an idiot.
My lady hates high-pitched noises, and flapping her wings, she starts pecking their ankles. It’s always fun to see people trying to move away from an angry hen, they do a little, uncoordinated, bouncy dance.
Adjusting my baseball bat on my shoulder, I swing it hard on Chimney’s leg. He moans and falls on his knee as I snap my fingers. Wednesday stops her attack and moves away, looking for food on the dirty ground.
“You. Run,” I tell the prey, moving my bat up and down. He doesn’t let me say it twice and flees like he has the flame of hell burning his ass.
Chimney slides his hand under his jacket, and my grip tightens around the bat when I hear, “Hands behind your head, or I’ll shoot.” Sari’s voice is stony as he reaches the bloke’s back. We have no gun, he’s bluffing while improvising—that’s proper badass. Chimney doesn’t know that and slowly raises his hands, glaring at me.
“We have so much to chat about…” Blimey, I can’t remember Chimney’s name. Maybe Ollie is right, I just don’t fucking care about stupid details like names. “Why did you stalk me?”
He glares at me, his lips tighten.
“Answer him!” Sari’s voice turns into anoofwhen Chimney pushes himself up and headbutts him in a pathetic attempt at escaping. I swing my bat again and land it on the side of the prick’s knee, making him stumble. I twist the wooden handle in my hands and push it upward, hitting him under the chin, then I spin and mean-high-kick him right in the gut. He drops on the ground with a moan.
“Angel, are you okay?” I glance at Sari. He has a little blood on his lip, but he doesn’t look upset. On the contrary his eyes are shining with…pleasure, and there’s a satisfied expression on his face.
No time to open this can of…I don’t even know if there would be worms in it or something utterly different.
“You were great, Angel. What did you use as a fake gun?”
“The lipstick you gave me.” He smiles, showing me the Chanel Rogue Coco Gloss tube.
“Just superb,” I add in a little French accent.
Clover turns Chimney on his belly with a hard push of his foot—the prick is a tall bloke, so third time is the charm—and yanks his hands back. He grabs his right wrist—his dominant hand, which Chimney used to smash my face in the underground garage—and twists it, hard. I hear a popping sound and, then another one. I muffle his scream, pushing his face against the cement ground.
“Bup-bup-bup-bup! Don’t bother my hen!” I grind his cheek harder on the dirty cement. “Nice moves,” I tell Clover.
He shrugs. Such a humble ninja.
“Get my wallet and scram, low lives,” he hisses. I saw the recognition in his eyes before. He knows very well who I am.
“Wednesday got it already.” I take it from her beak and go through it, tossing the contents one-by-one on the ground. How many strip joint’s business cards can a bloke keep? “Only one-hundred-dollar bills? Who are you, Willy Wonka?”
“Who?” Sari asks. I part my lips to explain, but decide to let it go. Sari needs more fun in his life. Much more fun.
“Ronny Salas,” I read on his driving license.
