Jenny pulled into a liquor store just as the night claimed the whole sky. She was mumbling to herself as she went in past the stacked towers of nationally-advertised industrial wines and mini screens with animations of models giving come-ons to try their product, suggesting with no subtlety that buying a bottle would draw her right to the buyer and she would be his, no questions asked.
“Yeah, I got a guy asleep in bed for you, bitch,” she snarled under her breath at one model that was particularly loud and buxom as she headed for the rums.
Her grumblings got a little louder as she scanned the labels. With a grimace, she gripped two bottles and made her way up front, tapping the plastic barrier wall a few times with the bottom of one of the bottles to get the cashier to look up from his pad at her.
“Hey,” Jenny said as she got his attention. “Should I go with an English or Spanish tonight?”
“The wha’?” he replied.
“English speaking rum; do I want to drink that or Spanish speaking,?”
“Say wha’? I don’t run the store, I just stock the shelves and man the booth.”
“I’m looking for a recommendation, okay?” she asked. “I just want to know what to go with here.”
“What do I know?”
“Do you even know the difference between the two?”
“I don’t drink much rum,” he admitted. “Wha’s the dif?”
“Spanish speaking, it’s rum from the older Spanish colonies and it’s a lot clearer and smoother than the ones from ex-English colonies which are a lot darker and crisper. And I wanted you opinion about what a girl all by herself tonight should drink if she’s doing it alone.”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat, kid.”
She sighed and started to hold up both bottles to see wha-
“NOBODY MOVE!” the guy who burst through the door yelled, pistol extended as his companion followed him in, sawed off shotgun at the ready at his side.
Jenny didn’t even stop long enough to curse to herself; she swung around, the English speaking rum’s bottle shattering against the pistol-wielder’s skull.
The sawed off shotgun’s barrel didn’t start rising until the last flecks of glass and rum finished spraying the wielder’s face, and by then Jenny had already sent the Spanish speaking bottle twirling straight for his face. The sides of the bottle caved as it met his forehead, the bottom sliding over his head briefly like a halo before she pushed the pistol packer into him.
The slam of going hard into the wall, despite two bodies cushioning the blow, made Jenny a little woozy. She looked at the scene of carnage as she steadied herself.
“Aw crap, my rum…” she muttered before she staggered out of the store and got back behind the wheel…
All content Copyright © 2012 James Ryan