Her Violent And Rapid Beauty

The date was not going well. Penny was ugly beyond metaphor and while only an aesthetic condition it was a daunting hurdle for James. Her unibrow flexed and softened as she slowly built a castle of toothpicks. She was use to awkward silences. She licked her stiff protruding lips as she meditated on the architectural traits of her building. Her big purple sweater was a detriment to her achievement. Slowly, it came to her that buttresses are unnecessary.

“So, are you ever going to speak to me?”

He decided promptly to rejoin his body in the conversation. He looked in her clay red eyes, obscured by nappy hair.

“James, I’ve looked in a mirror before. I know what I look like.”

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of it.”

His fettuccine carbonara was still nowhere in sight, the waiter had left some thirty minutes ago, leaving them chianti and awkward silence.

“It’s not like I much of a catch either.”

He wasn’t. Doughy white men of average strength and intelligence are only considered a catch if they are endowed by inheritance or natural luck.

“Damn, that waiter is taking forever.”

As if summoned by curse, a shiny pair of black shoes was next to them within moments.

“My name is Gregory and I will be your waiter today.”

“Well Greg, Dave is…”

Penny turned and saw a dyed red son of a bitch in a waiter’s outfit that was just slightly to small for him. This one had an ugly habit for a murder.

“Dave is dead and we’re not getting our food.”

She was very calm, this was her minutia.

“You’ve always been intuitive Penny.”

“And you’ve always been a sadistic little shit Trevor. Don’t worry James, this will be over real soon.”

James was perplexed and noticing a white pearl J sticking out of the waiter’s vest. J was the friendly end of a revolver, although James would find it more friendly in written correspondence. The waiter was smiling with wolfish implications displayed broadly, teeth and all. This Trevor was a bad man.

“Is this little puke keeping you here?”

“General courtesy and retirement stays me, I’m done.”

“So, you’re giving up? Just when we got the retainer with Sasha.”

“Sasha accepted my resignation, he had to.”

“Well damn girl.”

Trevor withdrew a bowie knife sheathed on his back. The short sword shined in the pale candle light.

“First, the beau, then I’ll ask again.”

A glug could be heard but Trevor didn’t quite comprehend quickly enough. The remains of the chianti was soon in the carpet, the bottle was crashing into Trevor’s head. Shards of glass decorated the floor of the quaint little Italian Eatery. While the knife was firmly out of reach, the revolver was in hand and dazed Trevor was still present enough to shoot but maybe not aim.

As Trevor pushed the hammer down, Penny was taking a page from pro wrestling and using a chair as a club. The bam went south into the apparently empty bar. As he lined the bevel back in tune with her center mass, she was stepping forward left and jabbing right. He was fumbling backwards and feeling inebriated. He tried to lift the old hog leg at her once more but she had his wrist in that vice of her’s and he had to let go.

Her tiny little pistol was untucked left handed from somewhere in the small of her back and Trevor was executed with Penny’s offhand. She sighed.

“If he didn’t have that John Wayne fetish, you’d be dead.”

“Was I suppose to do something?”

“No hon.”

“Should we get going.”

“Don’t worry this place is empty. I just had Dave with us tonight.”

Somewhere between the slaying of an asshole and the revelation that Penny owned an Italian restaurant, she started to look more appealing.

“So, what now?”

“Well, if you don’t mind the mess I say we go into the kitchen and see if our food is there.”

He could grow to love this woman.


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