Page 5 of Monk
I give him a look of faux innocence. “Good thing you’ve got my back then.”
“Yeah, you keep thinkin’ that.”
The chair legs scrape the wooden floor as I get to my feet. And as I make my way over to the booth, Maggie sees me. Her eyes widen and I see them flash with hope. As I step to the table, the guy holding onto Maggie’s wrist lets her go. She takes a step back, rubbing her skin and glares at him. The two guys—jocks, and probably frat boys by the look of them, stare back at me balefully.
One’s black and looks like he plays middle linebacker, with wide sloping shoulders and thick, corded muscle. He, at least, has the decency to look abashed by his friend’s behavior and won’t meet my eyes. The other is blonde, has a lean frame, and looks fit and strong. Probably a swimmer, I’d guess. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a polo shirt, canvas shoes with no socks, and a red ballcap—the official uniform of the spoiled and entitled everywhere.
They’re both younger than me and radiate an arrogance so thick, I can smell it. The sort of arrogance that comes from being young, entitled, and never having to fend for yourself. They never know what it’s like to live outside their bubble, and never seem to learn that actions carry consequences.
Well, they’re about to learn that lesson.
“Got a problem?” red hat asks.
“You headin’ back to school?” I ask.
The two frat brats exchange a look with each other, confusion on their faces.
“Yeah. What’s it to you?” red hat snaps at me.
“I think it’s best you get on the road then.”
His eyes narrow, he can sense the challenge. “I think it’s best that you mind your own business.”
Time to mark the territory. “You’re not from around here, so I’m goin’ to give you a one-time free pass,” I say, my voice low and harder than steel. “You’re not from Blue Rock Bay. Don’t belong here. This town belongs to the Dark Pharaohs, so I suggest you get on back to school.”
The black kid shifts in his seat uncomfortably, but red hat is looking at me with a condescending smile on his face as if he’s amused by me.
“Dark Pharaohs? Is that supposed to be intimidating or something?” he mocks.
“Dude, chill,” his friend says, casting a nervous eye at me.
“You should listen to your friend. He’s obviously smarter than you,” I tell him. “This is our town. You don’t roll through here and lay hands on people. Especially women just trying to do their job.”
“Would you relax? I just wanted her number,” he snaps.
“Didn’t look to me like she wanted to give it.”
“It’s between us. Why don’t you just fuck off.”
“Dude, Chase, stop,” says the other kid. “Let’s just go.”
“I haven’t finished my beer yet,’ red hat—Chase—says.
The black kid fishes some money out of his pocket and drops it on the table. He looks up at Maggie, giving her an awkward smile.
“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “We didn’t mean anything.”
I turn to red hat. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You got anything to say?”
He sighs as if bored by the whole thing, and judging by the arrogant smirk on his face, obviously still not believing he’s done anything wrong. Then, his eyes widen, his expression changing, and he looks as though he’s suddenly thought of something profound.
“I get it. This is part of the whole biker bar experience. This is like immersive theater—”
He never finishes his statement because, moving quickly, I grab the back of his head and slam it down on the table, making the silverware clink and nearly tip over the bottles of beer. The kid across from red hat leans back, his eyes wide, a look of shock on his face. Red hat throws his head back and covers his face with his hands. Blood squeezes from between his fingers, spattering on his baby blue polo.
