Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Twenty-One - Colt

I inhale a deep breath, savoring the menthol chill and sweet cherry flavor of the Camel. They were the one indulgence my father either didn't know about or chose to ignore. A piece of my world I could control, a bad habit retained since.

"Can I bum one of them?"

I pass the man a cigarette. "Yeah."

"Thanks." He lights up and takes an appreciative drag. Then his tone turns creepy. "Oh, hello."

I follow his line of sight. A young woman with long twists and flawless dark skin approaches the smoker's corner. Tight skirt, low blouse, and bright red lips sashay through the crowd of gawping mechanics straight toward me.

"Bet she fucks like a tiger."

I hide my distaste with a drag from the cigarette. He sounds like an inmate. "C'mon, man. That's someone's daughter."

A slimy grin. "Not mine."

Nobody should be dressed like that in this part of town. Especially not around these horndogs. I'd rather not catch a new number realigning someone's face for getting handsy.

Fuck feminism, safety first.

"Colt Cross?" The woman inquires, eyes twinkling.

I feign calm. "Yes."

She extends her hand. "Sharron Obioken."

A final drag on the cigarette, I exhale the smoke away from her, grind the butt under my heel. "My hands are dirty."

The man beside me extends his own grease-slathered paw, only it's not for her hand. "C'mere, babe. I'll pop that pussy and – "

I grab his thumb before it reaches her, twist it back. He yelps, drops to his knees. I don't look at him, gaze on Sharron.

"Finish that comment, I'll break your wrist."

Brown eyes smile, like she thinks it's cute this pervert almost grabbed her.

"Ow! Cross, the fuck – " I crank him harder and away from her. "Shit, man, I didn't know she was your girl!"

I release, thankful he slinks off without further protest. Others are still intent, not at all subtle in their roving stares or licked lips. Some even start to posture, fists furling at their sides.

"I apologize for my coworker's behavior, m'am." I hope she understands the meaning: this isn't the place for a pretty girl in pretty clothes. "How may I help you?"

"You don't know who I am?"

"No m'am."

"Interesting." Then with a casual toss of her hair, "Join me for lunch?"

No.

Except I see the closing of the circle, wolves around prey. Gritting my teeth, I force a pleasant smile. "Yes, m'am."

"Cool," she preens. "I'll drive."

Once in her BMW, we head toward Riverbend. Neither of us say a word. I try not to touch anything inside her car, covered in oil and grease as I am.

I expect some uppity place to match her outfit. Instead, she parks on the levy and we walk toward a food truck selling eclectic tacos.

"Awful chivalrous of you, aiding a damsel in distress." She bats her lashes at me once we're seated with our food.

I shake my head. "You knew damn well what you were doing." She takes a dainty bite of taco. "Who are you?"

"How's your jaw?" She ignores my question.