Page 8 of The Last Grift
“Sorry, I don’t know of anything.” Gabriel experienced an irrational stab of guilt when the cashier’s smile fell away. The fuck was wrong with him? Now that was a question he’d never been able to answer. He had no idea how he was going to support himself for the foreseeable future, so why did he suddenly want to help out a random gas station clerk who’d done jail time? What would the guy do for him anyway, wash his car? “I’m new to the area.”
The man’s expression brightened just as his attention flicked somewhere behind Gabriel again, followed by the sound of the bells on the door jingling as someone new pushed inside. Cue Gabriel’s exit.
“Yo, yo, Gordo,” a deep voice called out, too loud for the small space.
Gordo—Gordon, Gabriel was going to assume—didn’t seem thrilled by the newcomer’s arrival. In fact, he looked terrified.
Gabriel turned slightly so he could see who was there. There were two men, and both of them were definitely bad news. Local boys, based on their familiarity with the cashier, who thought they were the top of the heap, which may have been a slag pile, but they owned the whole pile.
“Gordo, are you feeling so-so?”
Gabe’s stomach sunk toward the floor; it wanted to sink lower but there was nowhere to go. Everything about these two spelled trouble.
Both men were broader, heavier, and younger than Gabe. The guy who thought he was a poet had a beard long enough that he had braided it, but the hair on his head was noticeably absent. In its place were several tattoos that, at a glance, had nothing to do with each other. Just the thought of having tattoos inked into his scalp made Gabriel shudder. A bit of dirt was smeared across the man’s nose and one cheek. The guy was spoiling for a fight.
The silent one had a dark, close-cropped beard and a handlebar mustache, plus tattoos on his neck and face. Gabriel supposed Silent Bob could have had them on his head too, but they were hidden by his long, thin, brown hair if that was the case. Said hair needed a wash, and both of the new shoppers could’ve used a shower.
Unintentionally, Gabriel caught Bad News Two’s gaze and wanted to look away immediately. The lack of…anythingmade Gabe’s skin twitch, but he wasn’t giving any ground to these two and simply stared back.
Silent Bob looked away first. Good.
Looking out the front window toward his Honda, Gabe saw an enormous black pickup truck, complete with extended wheel wells and fatty tires, parked by the pumps. In case onlookersweren’t already horrified by its very existence, twin confederate-style flags fluttered from the side mirrors. Nice.
“Calvin, Dwayne. Just a minute, let me finish up here.” At Gordon’s words, Gabriel turned back and handed him two twenties. Gordon’s hand shook as he accepted the bills, confirming Gabe’s suspicion that the two assholes made him uneasy.
Just leave, Chance. They’re looking for trouble.
“You want a receipt?” Gordon asked, one hand resting on the till while his thumb tapped restlessly against the keypad.
Gabe heard the two men shift around behind him. One—or both—of them were rifling vigorously through the candy display. He was tempted to suggest travel-sized toothpaste or shampoo, both of which were available.
“Nope, I’m good.”
He turned to leave, but the two shifted again and partially blocked his departure. Accident or assholery? Gabe put all his chips on asshole behavior. He also sighed inwardly. After yesterday’s events, he had no fucks to give, not for these two wastes of humanity.
He’d give them one chance. One. “Excuse me.”
Moving to the side as if to step around them, Gabe paused and assessed the situation. A quietmeepof distress escaped from the cashier. As he’d suspected they would, the two men moved again, making it impossible for Gabriel to leave without shoving his way between them.
“Oh, sorry,” the one called Calvin said insincerely. “Are we in your way?” He moved forward now, his shoulder banging hard against Gabriel’s chest.
Some behavior needed to be nipped in the bud. Lessons needed to be taught. Gabriel was no mystical Jack Reacher, but he knew how to fight and he knew that some people didn’t deservesecond chances. If these two wanted a fight, he’d give it to them, but it would be dirty.
Never start soft, Chance. If words fail and you have to fight, never let the bully get the first strike.
Sure, he’d run last night, and for good reason. But this was different. This Calvin guy was the kind who wanted everyone to justify their existence around him. Gabriel refused.
Gordon hadn’t been born yesterday, either. “Guys, just let him go,” he squeaked. “You’re going to get me fired if you start something in here.”
Gabriel had to appreciate the effort. Had anyone done something like that for him before? Not that he could recall.
“Who says we’re the ones starting something?” Calvin sneered. “Dwayne and me, we just need some night crawlers, don’t we, Dee-wayne?”
Dwayne’s eyes remained dark and flat, but something flickered in the depths of his gaze. He was Calvin’s tool, that was certain, but so was the fact that he didn’t appreciate the way Calvin said his name.
“Are you going to let him do that? Pronounce your name wrong, disrespect you?” Gabe asked Dwayne.
“He don’t care, City Boy. Right, Dee-wayne?”
