"You stock Cadbury chocolate?" I asked. "If I knew that, I might have come in here sooner."
"Of course I do," he said almost looking proud of the fact, as if somehow that made up for everything else he'd done in life. Chocolate was good, but notthatgood.
"Do you have a will?" Archer asked.
"What?" Now Toby frowned at him. "What do I need a will for?"
Archer pulled out his knife and took a step forward. "Because someone is about to inherit this place."
"What the fuck? No." Toby tried to back up further, but there was nowhere to go. "You really want to do this to Camilla? I'm the only parent she has left."
"Camilla will be just fine," I said coldly.
I'd make sure of that. She'd probably run this place better than him. If she stocked Cadbury chocolate, I was happy to frequent the place. Probably too often.
Toby reached around behind him, trying to find something to fight back with. He put his hand on a box and pulled it forward, dipping his fingers inside. He grabbed out the first thing he touched and pulled it out as if it was some kind of weapon.
"Nacho cheese Doritos," Archer remarked.
I could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Well, I'm scared," I said sarcastically. "Death by nachos."
"There's worse ways to die than eating too many nachos," Archer said.
"Absolutely," I agreed.
Toby threw away the packet in disgust and tried to find something else.
He grabbed up a ketchup bottle. Desperate, he twisted it open and aimed it at Archer's mask. With both hands, he squeezed, squirting the condiment in the direction of Archer's eyes.
Archer turned his face and caught the ketchup on the side of his head instead. It hit with a splat and trickled down his clothes, leaving a red smear.
"Is that the best you've got?" I asked, trying to contain a laugh. "Maybe you could add some mustard."
"Maybe you could fuck off." Toby threw the bottle at me, aiming for my head.
I ducked.
Archer lunged, and jammed the knife into Toby's throat.
"No one throws a ketchup bottle at my woman."
While Toby gurgled, drowning in his own blood, Archer twisted the knife, driving it in deeper.
"No mustard for us, I suppose," I said, pretending to be sad about it.
"Next time." Archer yanked the knife back.
Blood spurted out of Toby's neck. He sank to his knees, then fell backwards against one of the shelves. They rattled. Boxes of cereal wobbled.
A single box of cornflakes at the front wobbled more violently before toppling forward and landing on Toby's leg.
A moment later, the shelves gave way, soda cans raining down on him. Boxes containing deodorant, condoms, and tampons followed, piling up over and around him, like the whole store had been upended.
"Now you've made a mess," Archer said, sounding irritated. "Camilla's not going to appreciate having to clean that up."
"It looks like these shelves were put up badly anyway," I remarked. "She can have them done properly."
