Eric The Arrow
Eric is one slick customer. He slides among the
packages with the grace of a man of long forgotten footballer fame.
His long slim legs and hard stomach bristle and move as he stops in
front of a box and slaps a packing slip on it with his long
fingers, each with immaculately cut and pruned nails and small
scars here and there from the times when he wasn't so graceful and
needed to show his real nature to 'fix' an issue with another
man.
"E-R-I-C!"
He spins and bows a little with an amused smile
forming and disappearing on his lips.
"Yes, my lady."
The young women from Florida who just joined
the small family run business gives him a pissed look.
"Stop being a cock. Get up here!"
Eric's shoulders tense slightly at her tone,
but he is up next to her on the long gray railing that runs around
the large warehouse where the parcels and packages from all over
America are distributed to vans to be moved to the residents of the
small city where this story of wicked betrayal is
happening.
"What can I do for you?" he asks her, pulling
out a small touch pad and knocking in numbers as he
waits.
"What can you do for me?" she asks snarkily.
"How about working the next fucking 12 hours straight for me? You
think you are up to that, you tall fuck?"
Eric tenses and his left eye curves around the
deep exotic brown of his iris in what could be a very good
imitation of a tiger's eyes just before the beast surges forward
and tears its prey to pieces.
"I'm glad you noticed my height. So was that
all?"
He turns his back to her and starts slithering
away.
"Where do you think you are going?"
"To work. I thought that was what you are
paying me to do?"
"Listen, punk. I came here straight from Miami
and I know what you clowns are like. You are probably going to
smoke some FUCKING WEED and then piss around for a few
hours."
Sally starts pacing, her short slim legs moving
with heavy clods on the intertwined framework of the metal grating
that they are standing on.
"I know all about your kind, Eric.
Lazy-stupid-can't work for themselves-idiots one and all. Do you
think I don't know?"
Eric raises an eyebrow. He wonders if she
really does know. If she did then she - a mere female - might
consider her position a little more carefully. You don't insult the
wolf and expect him not to bite. That's a fool’s gamble. He thinks
she is probably a fool, so it is in character.
"What do you know, boss? Educate
me."
She stops seeing something in those brown eyes
of his: It's a challenge. He thinks he's so tough with that big
body of his. Sally has seen men, tall, handsome, strong, but flawed
like him. He doesn't think she knows how to handle a tall piece of
shit like him. Well, this one has a thing coming. He hasn't seen
anything yet.
"Are you sassing me?" she shouts at
him.
He looks her over. Just who is sassing who
here?
She strides forward and pokes her finger into
his strong chest. The poke is good, but the finger bends against
the flesh. Eric doesn't even wince.
"You have been stealing packages."
That comes as a surprise. If there is something
that Eric isn't doing it is stealing the worthless junk that
America seems to be obsessed with sending each other.
"Someone is telling you lies, boss. Perhaps you
should reconsult your sources."
"Don't avoid me, fucker. Jenny told me all
about you."
"Really?" he asks sounding slightly
surprise.
Sally stops and watches the guy. Why is he
smiling that half-cocked smile in this situation? She has him
red-handed.
"Yes. Now come to the office and I'll have you
out of here."
Eric doesn't move.
"Do you have proof?"
"Well..."
"Exactly. Go get proof, little manager. Come
back to me when you can pin something that sticks."
He walks away. Sally tenses her fists. That
woman didn't give her any proof; she didn't think she would need
it.
"I'll get you, Eric Chompton. You just
wait!"
He doesn't look back. The wolf is stalking. A
young red head is going to pay and pay good.
Jenny The
Learning to Kill: Stories