"...oh, and somebody thinks they can just waltz in anytime they damn well please?"
Startled, Jim looked up - into the sweaty, greasy, unshaven face of his boss, - ex-boss - Mr. Delevecchio.
"Uh, I..." Jim stammered - his feet had, unbidden, carried him to the Independent gas station where he'd worked for the past seven months. Now, confronted by his heavy-set, dark-haired, irritable ex-boss, he fumbled for words to explain what was going on.
"Forget it, ass-wipe!" Delvecchio roared. "I warned you about this, didn't i? You shouldnta bothered even commin' in, shit-fer-brains. And, if yer too mother-fricken-stupid to figure it out - Yer FIRED! " Reaching out one large, meaty hand, the grimy blue jump-suited owner proved that there was still muscle under the fat lining his body as he shoved Jim back a good three feet. Glaring at Jim, he pulled a cheap cigar out of his pocked and stuck it between his fleshy lips.
"Well...." a voice said from Jim's pocket - but despite the fact it was fairly deep an resonant (especially considering the voice-box it was coming from), Mr. Delvecchio didn't react to it - as if he didn't even hear the smug, mischevious little voice. "I like him - becuase I don't like him..." Linger snickered. "...whic, of course, makes him perfect for my first 'trick'."
Linger's tiny head popped out of the pocket, and he waved his hand in a grand gesture.
Mr. Delvecchio's sugly angry glare suddenly became puzzled confusion as...
Wed Oct 6 00:51:37 1999