Working Holiday - Robert Armstrong (epub e reader txt) 📗
- Author: Robert Armstrong
Book online «Working Holiday - Robert Armstrong (epub e reader txt) 📗». Author Robert Armstrong
dirty face of trolley-man, his head twisted awry to stare up this way, staring straight at me! I backed away from the window. Surely he can't see me! These huge panes are mirrored on the outside. I edged forward for another look. Still there, the bastard. But then, as I watched, he reached down and pushed the ground with his monkey arms, turning himself away and trundled off in the direction of the corner crossing.
Good. Go away monkey-man! I went back to my workstation with the cup of coffee to reacquaint myself with the trading action; A.J. McAllister against the world. Jesus, the bastards had gone crazy in the few minutes I'd been away. I started buying like a madman, all the while the caution alarms screaming at me to hold off, could be a set-up. Yeah, but I knew from experience at this stage of the spree, those stupid bastards over at Miller and Pyke with their geriatric system would come bidding long after I had staked my claims. I would be able to sit back later to see what happened, but right now I had to go, go, go! I glanced up at a movement in my peripheral. Oh my! It's Miss Gorgeous from the 8th floor walking past my partition and I would love to watch her sanguine saunter up to the communications desk but I honestly don't have time to look up; right now it's all buy, buy, buy!
He's around here somewhere, she said.
Who she's talking to I don't know, but then it's always hard to drag your eyes away from her to look at anything else. Then I get this creepy feeling and I lean down horizontal in my chair so I can see around the bottom of my office divider down the aisle, not to check out her legs this time, but to confirm or debunk a little fear I have. Shit! Shit! Shit! It is! It's him! Right here! He's working hard to push his casters through the carpet pile. Freak!
I return upright but slump low in my chair. Maybe she won't find me. She doesn't know I exist anyway. Maybe I could army-crawl to the men's room.
I smell her nostril-twitching perfume, sense the movement brushing against my desktop. I'm forced to look up.
'You're Jeff McCrossan aren't you?”
Sweet-lips herself, talking to me, knows my name!
'Yep. How are you?
'I thought so. Someone to see you.'
And with that she turned and grinned down at you-know-who behind her, one perfumed hand lingering on my partition for a moment before she walked off with her business smile towards the lifts. I swung back to face the head on the floor. He came up towards my desk and I rose in my seat to maintain eye contact as he came closer. He lifted a leather-bound knuckle-duster and showed me a snarling smile.
Hi!
Freak you, I'm thinking.
I'll come around the side, if that's okay, huh! Better to see you, and all that, ha ha!
'Freaking Ha ha' I'm thinking and I took a firm grip of the Eiffel Tower paperweight.
At last I've found you!
Yeah! Hi.
I, ah, I just came to apologise for creaming your ankle.
Apologise?
Yeah. How is it? Must have freaking hurt! Hit it twice didn't I?
Well, yeah, but it's not too bad.
I pulled up my trouser leg to show him.
Ouch! Yeah, sorry. It was an accident. I got spiked in the back of the neck by an umbrella, made me arch back and...
It's okay, I, ah, should apologise for kicking the rock into your trolley.
Rock? I didn't see any rock.
Oh yeah. It jammed in your wheel.
Oh that's nothing. I fall off it all the time, anyway.
We got to talking and he wanted to buy me a drink. We went down to a bar. It turns out Rick is well known around the city; a local celeb! He's a courier for the inner downtown. It's his own business. You should see him toss the trolley board against the bar and climb up a bar stool; a real athlete. I bought him a drink in return. That's how it started. We're good buddies now. But he's a little outspoken at times and I fronted him about it, worried that he would get us into a bar brawl, like with him starting it and me having to try and finish it on my own.
Don't worry, he said, I could always get down and bite them on the ankle!
Ha ha! I reckon he could do a lot more than that! He's a good guy.
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Good. Go away monkey-man! I went back to my workstation with the cup of coffee to reacquaint myself with the trading action; A.J. McAllister against the world. Jesus, the bastards had gone crazy in the few minutes I'd been away. I started buying like a madman, all the while the caution alarms screaming at me to hold off, could be a set-up. Yeah, but I knew from experience at this stage of the spree, those stupid bastards over at Miller and Pyke with their geriatric system would come bidding long after I had staked my claims. I would be able to sit back later to see what happened, but right now I had to go, go, go! I glanced up at a movement in my peripheral. Oh my! It's Miss Gorgeous from the 8th floor walking past my partition and I would love to watch her sanguine saunter up to the communications desk but I honestly don't have time to look up; right now it's all buy, buy, buy!
He's around here somewhere, she said.
Who she's talking to I don't know, but then it's always hard to drag your eyes away from her to look at anything else. Then I get this creepy feeling and I lean down horizontal in my chair so I can see around the bottom of my office divider down the aisle, not to check out her legs this time, but to confirm or debunk a little fear I have. Shit! Shit! Shit! It is! It's him! Right here! He's working hard to push his casters through the carpet pile. Freak!
I return upright but slump low in my chair. Maybe she won't find me. She doesn't know I exist anyway. Maybe I could army-crawl to the men's room.
I smell her nostril-twitching perfume, sense the movement brushing against my desktop. I'm forced to look up.
'You're Jeff McCrossan aren't you?”
Sweet-lips herself, talking to me, knows my name!
'Yep. How are you?
'I thought so. Someone to see you.'
And with that she turned and grinned down at you-know-who behind her, one perfumed hand lingering on my partition for a moment before she walked off with her business smile towards the lifts. I swung back to face the head on the floor. He came up towards my desk and I rose in my seat to maintain eye contact as he came closer. He lifted a leather-bound knuckle-duster and showed me a snarling smile.
Hi!
Freak you, I'm thinking.
I'll come around the side, if that's okay, huh! Better to see you, and all that, ha ha!
'Freaking Ha ha' I'm thinking and I took a firm grip of the Eiffel Tower paperweight.
At last I've found you!
Yeah! Hi.
I, ah, I just came to apologise for creaming your ankle.
Apologise?
Yeah. How is it? Must have freaking hurt! Hit it twice didn't I?
Well, yeah, but it's not too bad.
I pulled up my trouser leg to show him.
Ouch! Yeah, sorry. It was an accident. I got spiked in the back of the neck by an umbrella, made me arch back and...
It's okay, I, ah, should apologise for kicking the rock into your trolley.
Rock? I didn't see any rock.
Oh yeah. It jammed in your wheel.
Oh that's nothing. I fall off it all the time, anyway.
We got to talking and he wanted to buy me a drink. We went down to a bar. It turns out Rick is well known around the city; a local celeb! He's a courier for the inner downtown. It's his own business. You should see him toss the trolley board against the bar and climb up a bar stool; a real athlete. I bought him a drink in return. That's how it started. We're good buddies now. But he's a little outspoken at times and I fronted him about it, worried that he would get us into a bar brawl, like with him starting it and me having to try and finish it on my own.
Don't worry, he said, I could always get down and bite them on the ankle!
Ha ha! I reckon he could do a lot more than that! He's a good guy.
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Publication Date: 11-29-2009
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