I.N.K. Service

I gasp as I round the corner. I almost slam into a tall, suited torso. I look up and the scarred face stares back at me, blue eyes electric, brows furrowed, jaw clenched with menace. My first reaction is to pull a hit and run, but I then realize that it would land me being either punched in the face or pinned against the wall, or maybe worse. I start to back up, but the space I create between us is closed immediately. I start panicking like a wild rabbit about to be torn apart by a fox. I want to bound away from him but my legs are frozen. I want to push him over and have him tumble down the stairs but my arms are frozen. Suddenly, my bare shoulder blades hit the rough drywall behind me. Various curse words float through my head as I frantically search for a solution. None come until I try to kick between his legs on a whim. He saw it coming from a mile away and before I could even move, stepped on my foot. I hold back a squeal. It takes all my strength not to let out a startled yelp. He takes a long breath.
"Are you," he starts in a gruff, fearsome voice, "Miss Melonie Terrace?" My brain freezes. I don't know, am I Miss Melonie Terrace? Yes, wait yes I am.
I nod vigorously, eyes wide with fear and confusion. He takes his giant shoe of my tiny foot and pulls a card from his pocket and shoves it into my hand. And just like that, he disappears back up the stairs. I stand against the wall, shell shocked for a moment. The gears in my head start working. How did he know my name? Why did he want to see me? How did he know I was here? I gulp loudly compared to the silence around me. I feel the card between my fingers and lift the cream-colored paper to my face. It reads,
Miss Melonie Terrace
LaCriox; Restaurant
8'o clock, Sep. 5th