“I find it helps with customer satisfaction. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” I set my book down on the counter and create distance between us by going after more tea.
“Trust me.” He waves off my question. “I know where I am.”
“Then how about you tell me why you are here, before my actual customers show up and my attention gets diverted.” I pour more tea in my cup and attempt to push him past the small talk. I have a feeling I’m not going to like his answer.
He chuckles. His expression remains cool and watchful. “You’re a little more shrewd than most storeowners. I like that,” he replies, leaning an elbow on the counter. “I’m not here to waste your time. But my business is of a delicate nature. Something I feel might benefit from discretion on your part.”
“I’m not sure what I’ve done to earn that kind of trust and I don’t need your secrets.” My eyes narrow. “You can keep them.”
“It’s not about you, to be honest. It’s more about the setting. Your establishment seems... secure. No cameras, no other workers that I’ve seen. It lends itself to sensitive conversations.”
“No.” The answer shoots out before I can think twice about it. “I will not give you a place to make deals or launder money foryou and whoever it is you work for. So if you aren’t interested in a cup of tea, then I believe you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
His face falls, my reaction surprising him. It’s clear this man isn’t used to hearing the word no. He obviously hadn’t expected my immediate and blunt refusal. “Money laundering? That’s a bold assumption,” he snarks, with a hint of irritation. “And here I thought we could have a civil conversation.”
“This is a civil conversation.” I glare at him. My anger overthrows whatever caution I had left. “But go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Fine, maybe I’m here for more unsavory purposes,” he snaps, all pretenses of civility gone. “But I’m not stupid enough to ask you for anything that obvious. What kind of moron walks into a shop and says ‘Hey, can you help with a money laundering operation?’”
“You?” I scoff at him. “No matter how you package it, a turd is still a turd.” I point to the door. “Get out.”
“Look, lady.” He moves closer. “I’m not going anywhere ‘til you and I reach an understanding.”
My shoulders go rigid and heat flows up my neck. I can only think about one thing, making him leave. I pull my stun gun out from underneath the counter and aim it at his chest. “If I hit you with this, it’s lights out.” Surprisingly, my hand doesn’t shake. “And then you can explain to the police why you’re here.”
“You can’t be serious. You think you’re gonna take me down with a stun gun?” He raises an eyebrow at me like he thinks I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have.
“I mean, you could stick around and find out or you could leave and forget my shop ever existed in the first place.”
He looks from my face to the stun gun and back again, like he’s trying to find the bluff. He’s annoyed further when he doesn’t find one. With a huff, he steps back from the counterand holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.” He takes another step back. “You’ve made your point.”
I keep the stun gun pointed at him until he leaves. When I know for a fact he’s gone, I finally drop my arms and take a deep breath. By the time the bell rings for the first real customer of the day, I’ve put it back under the counter and I’m sitting down. I stare straight ahead, sort of dazed and my fingers tremble. I shake my head and force a smile.
“Welcome to Moonglow!” I chirp with false cheerfulness. In the back of my mind I know, I fucked up.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I keep drifting back to the man from earlier. His face, his words, the way he had looked at Moonglow like he was purchasing property. My usual customers file in, chattering away with each other, blissfully unaware of the danger. I greet them, pretending everything is normal. The memory lingers like an unwelcome shadow. As I make tea and complete sales, I half expect him to walk back in. Each time the bell jingles above the door, my chest tightens. But each time it’s another customer.
The entire day goes on like this. I try to distract myself with mundane tasks. I dust shelves, check inventory. I rearrange a few displays. But no matter what I do, I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t over. I know I’m going to regret taking a stand. Men like him don’t stop because you tell them ‘no.’ They take what they want. But I won’t give up Moonglow to a bunch of criminals without a fight. I love this store. It’s my home, my baby. And I’ll be damned if some piece of shit is going to walk in here off of the streets and demand I hand it to them.
Time drags by, I start to relax and prepare to end the day. The door swings open and the bell jingles again. The clock readsa little after 7:30 p.m., I rarely get customers this late although I close at nine. I look up from the back where I had been organizing some crystals on a shelf and my blood runs cold. He strides in, but this time he brought friends.
Two beefy lackeys flank him and they look even more dangerous and rough than he does. The one on his left is platinum blonde with blue eyes, over six feet tall with broad shoulders. His nose is bunched up like it’s been broken a few times and never treated. The guy on the right is as big as his cohort but bald. He has brown eyes and tattoos on his face. Dressed in dark clothing, they give off that unmistakable aura of someone who likes to commit violence and does so regularly. He spots me and smirks. Boots thud on the wooden floorboards as they fan out, positioning themselves near the exits, trapping me in.
“My answer hasn’t changed.” I stand firm.
They flip the sign to ‘Closed’ and lock the door. The last customer left over fifteen minutes ago. I’m alone. Great. I should have closed early, called someone. But I didn’t and now the consequences of threatening him earlier are staring me in the face.
He stops in front of me, relishing in the fact that I’m outnumbered and cornered. He tilts his head to the side. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
His henchmen move in. They loom at the end of the aisles like menacing shadows.
“See, sweetheart.” His gaze roams over me. “I don’t take ‘no’ very well.”
The blonde one snorts, staring at my body like he’s sizing up a piece of meat.
The leader leans a shoulder on the shelf next to me, making himself comfortable. “I think we need to have a little talk.”
“I really don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” My voice shakes.
