2020-02-22 - The Big Softie

Thick fingers tapped on the linoleum tabletop, rhythmically, successively. He watched her leave, silently before his fingers started to drum and his expression turned sour. The bell over the door chimed its last ring.

Sourer. "Fuck," he thought he muttered before pushing his chair from the table, and standing, only to then pluck his face down phone from the table.

In the back, the dark-haired bearded night-time manager and cook looked up from his own distraction, since the number of customers had turned since before the weather had. An inquisitive peek from the kitchen, then eyes went back down to thumb more on his phone.

"You're going after her." It was a statement. Almost an accusation, and that's what ticked the ruffian off the most. He grumbled on his way past the kitchen window towards the swinging doors that led to the back. His grimace deepened before the door finished swinging just to make sure the cook knew of his displeasure. The fry cook didn't even lookup. "You can't help everybody, you know."

Everett's pace didn't even stop. He had to move, and briskly. "Fuck off," he retorted intellectually. From the back, a door leads to stairs up. Into his shambles of an apartment. He wasn't there long, grabbing his knife from the dresser, leather jacket from the kitchen counter, and turned back to retrace his steps, kicking an old beer bottle out if his way, sent rolling towards the bathroom curtain.

When he descended into the kitchen preparation area again, with Ian still waiting, the cook greeted the giant with, "You're the shittiest Batman, you know. You don't even make a good Bruce Wayne." Then Ian looked up and grinned. Everett looked up from sliding the buck knife sheath on his belt to look at his employee and friend, his answer a roll of his eyes while he continued to get dressed.

And when he was, then pushing the swinging door open again, before swinging his jacket over his head to slide into it, muttered, "I can help those that I can. I don't know who she is, where she works. But I know it… stalks her. So…" His sentence cut off there while he got closer to following Beth out the door, thinking this is what happens when he lets people get close.

"Dude! Using People AS BAIT ISN'T COOL!", was Ian's reply, with rising volume, even sliding off the preparation stainless steel counter to follow Everett's progress outside, hoping he was loud enough to be heard. He wasn't sure, watching the big man duck under the door and head in the same direction he'd seen his unexpected guest turn.

When the door chimes stopped, and the last glimpse of the thug was gone, it was all Ian could think, before returning to sitting on the counter and bringing his phone up to his face and resuming his dirty conversation with his girlfriend: maybe he wasn't that bad a Batman after all.