Matt Cowper - The Clerk

Vernon was indeed up front, along with Peggy and an unknown man. Vernon and the man were hollering at each other, and both of them were pointing their fingers at the other in a way that presaged violence. Peggy looked absurdly pleased: the devil was in both these men, and they were putting their sins on display for all to judge.

Thomas looked over the man as he approached. He was a short, chubby guy with a goatee and a closely-shaved head. His beady eyes peered out from hipsterish black-rimmed glasses, and his voice was the shrill, indicting bleat of one who is perpetually offended. He gave Thomas the impression of being the fat kid who everyone had picked on in high school.

As Thomas walked through Peggy’s checkout aisle, the man noticed him, and his attention was instantly diverted. He left Vernon dangling mid-harangue and stepped in Thomas’s way challengingly.

“You’re Thomas Copeland, ain’t you?” he asked, as if he expected Thomas to lie about his identity.

“Yes, I am,” Thomas replied. “Do I know you?”

“No, we’ve never met in person,” the man said, seemingly proud of this fact. “But you know who I am. My name is Grant, and I’m dating Kara now, and I’m here to tell you to back off.”

Vernon was now between them, and he resumed his harangue with even more anger, since this impertinent pup had walked away before he’d gotten to the good bits.

“…as I was saying, you’re not gonna come into my store and stir up a lot of trouble, I’ll tell you that right now! If you want to have words with Thomas, do so after he’s off the clock, don’t poison my establishment with your cockamamie accusations and threats!”

“Poison your establishment?” Grant echoed. “There’s, what, one customer in here?”

“That’s one person who’s not going to hear your foolishness!”

“Listen, old man ,” Grant said in one of the most patronizing tones Thomas had ever heard, “ you’re the one who started yelling. All I said was that I wanted to see Thomas.”

“No, you said you wanted to ‘see that idiot who thinks he can steal my girl.’ And you said you’d ‘beat some sense into him if he doesn’t stop his harassment.’ Ain’t that what you said?”

“Well, yeah, but what business is it of yours?” Grant sneered. “You gonna fight his battles for him?”

“No, but he’s my employee, and my friend, and I’m gonna stick up for him when some blabbering sack of manure tries to slander him!”

“Guys, guys,” Thomas said, raising his hands mollifyingly. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on. You say you’re dating Kara, and that I’m harassing her or something?”

“That’s right,” Grant said. “Don’t deny it, either. I’ve seen the text messages and the Facebook posts.”

“Listen, I haven’t talked to her in weeks,” Thomas said. “I don’t know what texts and posts you’re talking about…”

“You do. You most certainly do. I’ve seen them,” Grant said, pointing to his eyes in case Thomas didn’t know what “seen” meant. “You’re bothering her all the time, trying to get her back, even though you know we’re dating. I’m tired of it, and it’s going to stop — one way or the other.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Thomas said loudly, his anger rising, as Vernon’s had, at the arrogance of this portly troll. “You’re saying I have been bothering Kara? Like I told you, I haven’t talked to her in weeks. She’s pulling the wool over your eyes, somehow.”

“She’s doing nothing of the sort. I’ve seen…”

“You’ve seen what?” Thomas demanded. “Whatever she’s shown you, it hasn’t come from me.”

“What, she’s faked all this? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, knowing Kara, I wouldn’t put it past her. Would you?”

For a brief moment, Grant pondered the possibility that he was being deceived. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but seeing Thomas’s apparent bafflement unsettled him. Either Thomas was an exceptional actor, or he really was innocent of stalking his “sexy mama,” as Grant called her. True, Kara hadn’t shown him the actual “harassing” messages on her phone, she’d shown him print-outs, which did seem to be a waste of paper — but she had cried a lot, on numerous occasions, and she’d threatened to start cutting herself “to relieve all the tension that Thomas is piling on me.” Surely that wasn’t fakery — was it?

But Grant quickly put his game face back on. He’d come here for a reason, and he wasn’t going to back down because Thomas was acting persuasively ignorant. That would mean he’d been a fool, and he could not accept that. He could not accept that this woman — though she wasn’t the liveliest person, and contradicted herself when talking about ex-boyfriends and her ex-husband — would go to such lengths to humiliate both him and Thomas.

“You expect me to believe that?” Grant asked, back on track, as if doubt was something for lesser men. “That the messages I’ve seen with your name as the sender aren’t real?”

“I don’t know what Kara’s doing,” Thomas replied. “Why don’t you show me these goddamned communications, and maybe we can see what’s going on?”

“I don’t have them,” Grant admitted, though he made it sound like it was an unreasonable request for Thomas to ask for them.

“Thomas, you don’t have to put up with this,” Vernon said. “If this walking chunk of excrement won’t shut up and leave, we’ll throw him out.”

Grant swelled up, which, if Thomas had been in a lighter mood, would have made him laugh, since Grant had no muscle to show off.

“You lay a hand on me, old man, and I’ll put you in a nursing home,” he puffed. “This is between me and Thomas, and I don’t know why you keep sticking your dirty old nose into it…”

The punch seemed effortless. Thomas’s fist collided with Grant’s pudgy chin, and Grant’s head spun and his glasses flew off. He would have fallen, if he hadn’t been standing right beside the checkout counter; instead, the blow sent him stumbling into it, and he was able to catch himself. This disappointed Thomas; he wanted to knock this asshole unconscious, or at least drop him to the floor.

“That was a cheap shot,” Grant said, blinking at them through nearsighted eyes.

“Maybe,” Thomas said, “but we can go out back and have a real fight, if you want.”

Peggy, who had believed everything Grant said and saw Thomas’s punch as a cowardly attack on a helpless man, quickly picked up Grant’s glasses, which had skidded to rest a few feet away. Grant took them with a small nod of thanks and examined them closely.

“They’re cracked,” he said hotly.

“Buy some new ones then,” Thomas replied, just as hotly.

“ You’ll buy some new ones,” he snarled. “You sucker punched me.”

“I’m not buying anything,” Thomas snarled back. “You came in here pissing everyone off, you should’ve been ready to get hit. You’re too dumb to realize that Kara’s playing you. If you came to me man-to-man, we could’ve talked things out. But you wanted to make a scene to prove you’re a tough guy.”

“Yeah… well… this isn’t over…”

No. That’s what Kara had told him. This was going to end — now. He stepped forward until he was inches from Grant’s face. Grant clenched his fists, but didn’t make any other move.

“No, this is over,” Thomas said, in a voice that seemed to him as gravelly and powerful as the thunder booming overhead. “If you ever bother me again, I’ll do more than give you a light tap on the chin. We’ll fight for real. It won’t be one of those four-punches-thrown-then-let’s-shake-hands-and-get-a-beer fights. I’ll be fighting to hurt you.”