Call for Obstruction (The Courier #1)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 8 (v.2) - What's So Funny

Submitted: June 24, 2009

Reads: 361

Comments: 2

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Submitted: June 24, 2009



Sleigh bells on the Purgalator’s door announce my entrance. The pungent aroma of dark roast assaults my nose. A bitter brew for the bitter bitch.

The rising sun shines through the storefront window and dim fixtures barely illuminate the shop. Except for the coffee jerk behind the counter, the place is deserted.

The guy drops a rag onto the butcher-block counter and dries his hands on the dirty apron hanging below his Metallica t-shirt. He’s sporting a nose ring, earlobe plugs, and black and gray tattoos up his arms. By the look of him, he and his band headline in his mother’s garage.

The guy leans over the counter and smirks. “Can I get you something?”

I walk between tall oak tables to reach him. “Picking up for Margery?”

His posture stiffens, like he’s been whipped across his back. He skips to the end of the counter, grabs a tall capped-off cup, and rushes to return to the cash register. His hands shake as he places the cup down. “Five twenty-five,” he says.

My eyes widen. “She expects me to pay?”

“Trust me, you do not want to show up without her coffee.”

“Bitch better pay me back,” I mumble and reach into my back pocket. The cost of her drink is probably more than the total cash in my wallet.

Sleigh bells sound off, announcing another customer. The coffee jerk’s eyes pop and he turns up a toothy grin.

I peer over my shoulder. Too gorgeous to notice a guy like me is the first thing I notice about the woman approaching us. Messy though, dressed all in white with tan, sculpted legs stretching out from under her wrinkled miniskirt. Her blouse is only partly tucked-in and her long brown hair is tousled up into a clip. She looks as if she’s on a walk of shame.

“Morning, Trisha.” The dirt bag ogles her chest while he asks, “In for an espresso boost this morning?”

“Going to be another hot one today, Harvey. Think I’ll have a frozen cappuccino, like yesterday.”

Now I get it. She bounces on the balls of her feet while she speaks, and she’s not wearing a bra. A welcome distraction from her whiny, high-pitched voice, which failed to mature past the age of five.

“One minute,” Harvey says to her. Then he turns back to me with a smirk on his face and his palm held out to demand payment.

I dig into my wallet, reach in for my last five, but instead pull out four crisp one hundred dollar bills. “What the…” I frown and smile at the same time. I haven’t had this much cash in forever. I suspect this is my pay for yesterday’s courier run, but tell Harvey, “I don’t know where this money came from.”

Harvey reaches over the counter and snatches a bill out of my hand. “You must be one of Margery’s new guys,” he says while counting out change from the register.

“Margery?” Trisha backs away.

I hate to admit that this is an all too familiar reaction attractive women have around me. In this case, Margery’s obviously the offensive one. Even so, I give them a dirty look before reaching for the coffee and change.

“Good luck,” Trisha says. She and Harvey burst out laughing.

Not wanting to be a part of their inside joke, I push open the door and let the noisy sleigh bells announce my departure.

“Tell Margery, Trisha says hi,” she calls after me.

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