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I walked over and grabbed the coffee pot off the burner. “My name’s not Sugar Tits. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” he leered as he chewed with his mouth open. “Where’s a good place to get me some strange?”
For any of you not conversant in Lowlife, he was inquiring where he could hire a female companion by the hour.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said.
I could feel his gaze roving up and down me like something cold and slimy. “I’m thinkin’ I could maybe get it right here.”
I gave him the same look I’d give a dog licking its own butt. “You’d be wrong.”
“Don’t be like that – I know you like what you see,” he said, some of his over-easy eggs dribbling out onto his beard.
I’d like to cold-cock you with this coffee pot, I wanted to say. I’d LOVE to see THAT.
But I didn’t make any comment, just finished filling his cup. I was about to move on when he grabbed my wrist in his ham-sized fist.
“I’d show you a good time,” he grinned.
I got perilously close to slamming him upside the head with the pot, just like in my fantasy, but instead I used my Krav Maga training. Krav Maga is a martial art invented for the Israeli army and Mossad (Israel’s equivalent of the CIA), and it was designed to be fast and lethal. The national training center is in LA. Once I decided on a part-time gig as a private investigator, I took classes for two years… just in case.
Never actually used it on the PI job – but it came in handy here.
The problem with trying to get out of the trucker’s grip was that he was as big as an ox, and I was small – especially compared to him. My arm wasn’t going to be able to overcome his gorilla-like grip. But when I put my arm against my body and used my upper torso as leverage, I was able to break against his fingers – which were much weaker. Especially when I dipped down and used the counter as an obstacle against him. His forearm couldn’t go lower than the counter, but I could.
I braced my arm against my body, dipped, and spun. Came out of his grasp like a newly caught fish slipping out of a greasy hand.
“No thanks,” I said, and moved past.
I’d apparently bruised his ego.
“You uppity little bitch,” he snarled, and stood up on the other side of the counter. “Think you’re hot shit? You’re ugly as fuck, you stupid – ”
And then he called me the See You Next Tuesday word.
I spun around, about to douse him with 150 degree liquid, job or no job –
But King Leonidas was already there.
I hadn’t seen him walk up, but as soon as I turned around, he was standing behind the trucker.
He didn’t put a hand on the Neanderthal, but his presence was overpowering. Like the Grim Reaper had suddenly decided to make an appearance.
“That’s it, friend. Time to go,” he said.
Damn, that voice.
Low, rumbling, powerful. Authority personified.
The voice of a king.
Sexy as hell.
The trucker turned in surprise, then scowled in contempt. He was a good hundred pounds heavier, if an inch or two shorter. “Get the fuck outta my face, asswipe.”
The entire diner went quiet. I mean, silent. A pin drop would have sounded like a crowbar on china.
Over at the booth, the blond mechanic got up from his seat.
