than twenty and wore a soiled, dark green army jacket.
I knew by the expression on Daisy 's face when she offered him more coffee and he waved her away without looking up from the tattered paperback he had in front of him on the counter that she was hoping he'd give her an excuse to spit fire.
And now he had.
I wiped my mouth with the corner of a napkin, angry in a sort of distracted way that my quiet meal of ham and cheese bagels was about to be spoiled by another of Daisy MacFarlane's needless outbursts. I was well used to them you understand, but that didn't mean I couldn't wonder why she insisted on doing it every week like clockwork, or be happy about it. Only a fire could clear a place faster than Daisy. I guessed it was as essential a part of her being as the thick greasy makeup she wore which was at least two shades lighter than the skin beneath it.
" Excuse me?" she said and settled her three hundred-and-something pounds against the counter. A thick, short-fingered hand plunked down beside my plate like an blushing starfish as she steadied herself, the heaving of her massive bosom making Betty Boop's black and white ass poke further into the air on her apron.
The kid looked bewildered for a second and looked to me for support, as we were the only two seated at the counter. Jed MacLean and a bunch of his men from a construction site over in Harperville were seated in the booth behind me. One of them sniggered.
A sidelong glance from Daisy silenced him.
The kid gave her an uneasy grin. "Christ, sorry. I'm hungry all right, that's all I meant. S'not easy sitting here with an empty stomach and waiting to be served while a guy's sizzling steaks and hamburger right in front of your nose."
The 'guy' was Ralphie Grimm (I know, I know but no story there either), probably the most capable short order cook in the Western hemisphere despite his missing two fingers.
(And there is a story there, but it changes every week.)
Poor Ralph had a face that could turn your hair gray if you saw him in partial shadow but I have yet to meet a nicer guy, which makes it all the more upsetting that he died that day. I can still see him flipping those burgers and whistling soundlessly, occasionally flashing a smile or a lewd wink over his shoulder at Daisy 's trundling form.
Now however I saw his shoulders tense and the whistling stopped.
Daisy's jowls tightened, her thin violet lips curving into a wicked sneer. "A man hungry enough to forget his manners ain't half a man at all," she said in a tone of voice that suggested she was recalling a passage from the Bible.
Over our heads, the old fan rattled. Someone coughed. The griddle hissed.
"Jesus, lady…"
" Lady ? My name is Daisy and I own this establishment, boy. If you'd looked carefully enough you'd have seen the tag on my uniform." She tugged at the little white rectangle on her bosom. "Day -Zee ."
The kid shrugged. "I don't like to peer too closely at ladies' breasts, Ma'am. Gets you in trouble in some places, y'know?"
Mirth bubbled in my throat and the fact that all of Jed McLean 's men were now wheezing laughter into their hands made it all the harder to swallow.
But next to my plate, the starfish had reddened further and the mirth had vanished.
Christ kid , I thought, don't make her go postal on you .
" A wise-ass," Daisy growled, teeth clenched. "Maybe a turn on the griddle would put some manners into you."
The kid feigned shock. "Are you threatening me, Day- Zee ?"
I ran a hand over my face and briefly considered telling the kid to shut his yap before Daisy rammed a saucepan into it. But I just sat there, trying to mind my own business and hoping Daisy wouldn 't resort to—
" You little shit!"
--cussing.
"Now you listen here. Get back on whatever pile of junk you used to carry your skinny little hippy ass here and beat it before I beat you seven shades of purple."
She had shifted forward a step closer, her face positively swollen with rage. The starfish drew
I knew by the expression on Daisy 's face when she offered him more coffee and he waved her away without looking up from the tattered paperback he had in front of him on the counter that she was hoping he'd give her an excuse to spit fire.
And now he had.
I wiped my mouth with the corner of a napkin, angry in a sort of distracted way that my quiet meal of ham and cheese bagels was about to be spoiled by another of Daisy MacFarlane's needless outbursts. I was well used to them you understand, but that didn't mean I couldn't wonder why she insisted on doing it every week like clockwork, or be happy about it. Only a fire could clear a place faster than Daisy. I guessed it was as essential a part of her being as the thick greasy makeup she wore which was at least two shades lighter than the skin beneath it.
" Excuse me?" she said and settled her three hundred-and-something pounds against the counter. A thick, short-fingered hand plunked down beside my plate like an blushing starfish as she steadied herself, the heaving of her massive bosom making Betty Boop's black and white ass poke further into the air on her apron.
The kid looked bewildered for a second and looked to me for support, as we were the only two seated at the counter. Jed MacLean and a bunch of his men from a construction site over in Harperville were seated in the booth behind me. One of them sniggered.
A sidelong glance from Daisy silenced him.
The kid gave her an uneasy grin. "Christ, sorry. I'm hungry all right, that's all I meant. S'not easy sitting here with an empty stomach and waiting to be served while a guy's sizzling steaks and hamburger right in front of your nose."
The 'guy' was Ralphie Grimm (I know, I know but no story there either), probably the most capable short order cook in the Western hemisphere despite his missing two fingers.
(And there is a story there, but it changes every week.)
Poor Ralph had a face that could turn your hair gray if you saw him in partial shadow but I have yet to meet a nicer guy, which makes it all the more upsetting that he died that day. I can still see him flipping those burgers and whistling soundlessly, occasionally flashing a smile or a lewd wink over his shoulder at Daisy 's trundling form.
Now however I saw his shoulders tense and the whistling stopped.
Daisy's jowls tightened, her thin violet lips curving into a wicked sneer. "A man hungry enough to forget his manners ain't half a man at all," she said in a tone of voice that suggested she was recalling a passage from the Bible.
Over our heads, the old fan rattled. Someone coughed. The griddle hissed.
"Jesus, lady…"
" Lady ? My name is Daisy and I own this establishment, boy. If you'd looked carefully enough you'd have seen the tag on my uniform." She tugged at the little white rectangle on her bosom. "Day -Zee ."
The kid shrugged. "I don't like to peer too closely at ladies' breasts, Ma'am. Gets you in trouble in some places, y'know?"
Mirth bubbled in my throat and the fact that all of Jed McLean 's men were now wheezing laughter into their hands made it all the harder to swallow.
But next to my plate, the starfish had reddened further and the mirth had vanished.
Christ kid , I thought, don't make her go postal on you .
" A wise-ass," Daisy growled, teeth clenched. "Maybe a turn on the griddle would put some manners into you."
The kid feigned shock. "Are you threatening me, Day- Zee ?"
I ran a hand over my face and briefly considered telling the kid to shut his yap before Daisy rammed a saucepan into it. But I just sat there, trying to mind my own business and hoping Daisy wouldn 't resort to—
" You little shit!"
--cussing.
"Now you listen here. Get back on whatever pile of junk you used to carry your skinny little hippy ass here and beat it before I beat you seven shades of purple."
She had shifted forward a step closer, her face positively swollen with rage. The starfish drew
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