Axillon99

by Matthew S. Cox

  Blake muttered the banjo riff from Deliverance as he shuffled past her.

  “Sir? Can I get help with anything?” asked Dakota.

  “Coffee, please.”

  Okay, he can talk. “Plain coffee? A latte? Espresso?”

  He broke eye contact finally, and peered up at the menu screens. “Let me get a chocolate one, large.”

  “Large mocha latte?” asked Dakota.

  The man nodded.

  “Be right out. Nine eighty-five please.”

  He pulled his hand out from the jacket pocket and deposited a severely-crinkled ten-dollar-bill on the counter. Dakota picked it up, barely managing to suppress the cringe at touching the warm, sweat-soaked paper. She dropped it in an empty section of the till to keep it away from other currency before plucking a dime and a nickel out for his change.

  “Your drink will be out in a moment, over there.” She nodded to the counter at her right.

  The man remained close by, up on tiptoe to peer over the counter. He stared at her the whole time she assembled the latte, obvious and creepy enough that Blake approached and hovered right next to her, though that didn’t dissuade the guy in the least.

  She set the drink on the counter. “There you go. Have a nice day.”

  He picked the coffee up, but didn’t walk away.

  Ugh. What is it with creeps! She tried not to look at him, busying herself with rearranging pitchers, cleaning the foam nozzle, checking flavored syrup levels and so on. Every time she risked a peek up, she made eye contact with the guy who still stood right by the counter watching her.

  The fifth time, she opened her mouth to ask what his problem was, but before she could say a word, he walked off to a table.

  “The fuck is wrong with that guy?” muttered Dakota.

  “Language,” said Hal from the back room.

  Dakota blinked. She walked over to the flapping plastic door, and stuck her head in. “Hal? What’s up with the language thing? It’s like you’re more offended someone might use a dirty word than, oh, this customer wants to throw me over the counter and tear my pants off. You’re basically implying they can steal and rape all they want, just don’t swear, ’cause swearing’s worse.”

  “Say what?” Hal stood and walked over, peering out the window of the door at the room. “Some dude givin’ you trouble?”

  She sighed and murmured an explanation of the guy staring at her for a full five minutes. “Really felt like he wanted to jump on me.”

  Hal scratched his head. “Maybe the guy’s autistic or something.”

  “I guess that’s possible, but I don’t think so. This felt legit creepy. Autistic people don’t radiate malice.”

  “Hmm.” He started to walk out, but she didn’t back up. “What?”

  “Why are you so hung up on bad words?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just not the sort of thing decent people want to hear.”

  “Oh? You know I read a study that said intelligent people swear more.”

  “Yeah, well, studies say a lot of things.” Hal smiled. “I find it rude, and I prefer to operate a business where people shouldn’t have to hear that if they don’t want to.”

  “I get that, but… dude was undressing me with his eyes and you’re all about ‘Oh noes, a bad word.’”

  “C’mon.” He nodded at the door. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

  She backed up, letting Hal out into the area behind the counter. The creepy guy had taken a table near the window, but he kept watching her. Dakota hurried over to the terminal when a group of people entered and formed a line. The whole time she took orders and rang people up, the guy kept staring at her. He didn’t make any weird faces, but the total lack of emotion unnerved her more than any lewd tongue gesture could have.

  Hal went out from behind the counter and approached the guy. Between a nasal-voiced man reading her a list of fifteen drinks for his office, she caught snippets of Hal ejecting the guy under threat of involving the police.

  The creep got up and left without protest. She stared over the office-worker’s puffy curled hair, tracking the old winter coat off to the left until he vanished beyond the window.

  “Did you get that last one?” asked the office guy.

  “Umm, sorry. I missed it.”

  The man started to heave a sigh.

  “This creepy dude was staring at me, bad. I’m sorry. Not easy to focus when someone’s giving me a look like they want to kill me.”

  “Oh.” He twisted around to peer at the window. “No problem. So it was a large peppermint latte with two extra shots and a squirt of caramel syrup.”

  The terminal beeped as she keyed it in. “Got it.”

  Hal walked back around, clapping his hands off like he’d thrown out the trash. She smiled at him, debating asking if he’d walk her home later.

  “Blake, gonna need a hand here. Big order and there’s a line,” said Dakota.

  “Coming,” shouted Blake from the back room.

  Dakota took everyone’s order, and once they had eighteen drinks in queue plus two food items, she and Blake scrambled to put everything together. Trini arrived, a few minutes early for her four-to-nine shift. Dakota sent her straight to the blenders to get the cold drinks going. The seventeen-year-old dove into the fray like a pro without a squeak of complaint.

  The rush took her mind off the creep for a bit, but once things quieted down, she caught herself staring at the windows. She didn’t see a trace of the guy, so she returned to hunting the internet via her phone for a ballistic firearm.

  Four cops came in. Normally, she loved having them around. After poking the AmeriBank ATM, and having $280 of stolen money in her apartment (even if it had been filtered through a money order), she couldn’t help but feel nervous in their presence. Of course, it would be next to impossible for anyone to trace it back to her personally. About the only way that could happen is if someone in Nebraska’s gang ratted her out. A determined enough investigator might track the login all the way back to Manhattan, but they had an illegal splice connection, so no registration with the ISP. It would take the provider testing the line to determine how far along the run the tap was, and from there, authorities would probably be able to find the gang. All of that seemed like too much effort for a $4,200 theft, but that bank had been the same one to sue children over chalk.

  Hal’s younger brother was on the force, so he had a thing where uniformed officers could get a large plain coffee for free once a day. He liked having plenty of cops in and around the café as it tended to keep the criminal element away. Three of them opted for the free large plain coffee while one got a mint latte. If the police went for something beyond a basic coffee, they got the employee discount. She debated talking to them about the creep, but didn’t want to get thought of as the ‘overly delicate’ girl who complains about everything. If she bugged them with every jackass that made her uncomfortable, they’d start ignoring her. Preferring not to be the ‘Girl Who Cried Perv,’ she let it go.

  Hal took off at 7:04 p.m., having tickets to a game that started in an hour. Dakota bit her lip as he ran out the door, but the creepy guy hadn’t reappeared, so she tried not to think about being alone for the walk home.

  Trini left at nine when her dad rolled up outside in a minivan. She liked him, even though he had such a thick accent she couldn’t understand a word coming out of him. Blake spent the last hour between nine and ten on the phone with his friend Neal. Dakota felt pretty sure the two of them were a bit closer than simple friends.

  By the end of her shift, she’d researched a couple possibilities of blue-quality guns. The best option appeared to be the Warhawk Model 3, a drop from a five-person group mission rated at level thirty-nine.

  Right. I know what I’m doing when I get home. She hummed to herself while wiping down the counter. Farming that instance over and over. Hooray for random group finder.

  She and Blake cleaned out the machines after locking the doors. He ran around with a mop and ra
g doing floors and tables while she scrubbed the counter area. By 10:10 p.m., she set off toward home. An echo of a shoe scuff made her look back before she reached the end of the block. The blood practically gelled in her veins at the sight of the creepy guy in the old winter coat ambling toward her.

  Dakota scooted up to a brisk walk, darting into the street past the corner despite the light going orange. Two cars beeped at her, but she didn’t acknowledge them. More horns went off after she reached the sidewalk. Figuring the guy had also decided to ignore the traffic light, which had gone red to them, she stuffed her hand in her bag, gripping the canister of pepper spray Eric bought her. She clutched it like a lifeline, working her thumb at the safety release while her index finger curled around the trigger. With her bag tucked under her left arm, she had to look like she feared a purse-snatcher.

  A few blocks later, she made the left turn toward her apartment, but cursed in her mind for letting her need for the security of home distract her from taking a decoy route. The last thing she wanted was to lead this guy to her actual door. Sure enough, he followed her around the corner, walking faster, almost jogging.

  She squeezed the canister and hurried faster.

  The guy jogged up behind her. “Hey…”

  Dakota spun toward him, a nanometer from ripping the can out of her purse and hosing him down.

  “You’re on the Stormbringer, aren’t you?”

  Dread and panic smashed into a wall of confusion. Her eyebrows crept together. “What?”

  “The ship?” asked the guy. “Stormbringer?”

  She took a half-step back, not quite as on edge. “You’re stalking me over a video game?”

  He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “Uhh, sorry. I kinda guess it is stalky. Didn’t mean that. I, umm, wanted to ask you about the big mission. Saw you guys on the leaderboard. I got the intro drop, but I can’t figure out what to do with it. Any chance of a clue?”

  “It’s a puzzle.” Her heart began to slow back to normal, but she didn’t let go of the canister. “You’re supposed to figure it out.”

  He swayed side to side, wagging his head. “I know. But I’m stuck. Come on, help a guy out a little? Small clue?”

  “Look, you seem like a nice enough guy,” said Dakota, trying not to sound as false as she felt. “Normally, I’d have no problem throwing spoilers at someone who wanted them, but this isn’t exactly a normal mission, yanno? It’s a competition to a big prize. My friends would kick my ass if I helped someone beat us to the prize.”

  “I’m not asking you for everything. Just a little clue what to do with that stupid data pad.”

  She backed up another step. “Sorry, man. It’s a puzzle.”

  He lunged forward, grabbing her arms. “It doesn’t make any sense. Tell me something!”

  “Dude!” shouted Dakota. “It’s a game. Chill out!”

  “It’s ten million bucks. Come on!” He shook her by the arms. “You gotta give me a clue. It’s driving me crazy!”

  She struggled to get away from him, but he had a death grip on her coat. “Get off me!”

  “Where’s that blue star system?” His fingers squeezed tighter. “Give me something… anything.”

  “Three seconds,” said Dakota, too terrified to shiver.

  “What? Three seconds? Huh?”

  When he didn’t let go, she yanked the canister out of her purse, flung her arm up, and squeezed the trigger.

  A stream of red liquid shot out the end, spattering all over his face. Since he had enormous nostrils, she aimed for them, sending a half-second’s worth of Habanero Hammer straight up into his sinuses.

  The guy howled and reeled back, clamping his hands over his face while shrieking. He tripped over his own feet and crashed to the sidewalk, gagging and choking. Dakota pounced, swiped the wallet out of his jean pocket, and took off running.

  He babbled incoherent nonsense between wails of agony.

  Dakota sprinted past her apartment building, the man following her a long ways back like a drunken version of Jason Voorhees. Bright fluorescent lights of the 7-11 three blocks from her apartment drew her like a moth. Even better, a police car had parked out front. She scrambled in the door, found the cops by the coffee station, and skidded to a halt.

  “A guy…” she wheezed. “A guy tried to grab me.”

  The officers turned toward her.

  Dakota pointed the spray can at the door. “He’s chasing me. I maced him.”

  A zombie-like wail outside happened as if on cue.

  The tall cop, a black guy who could’ve been Hal’s very distant cousin, took a step toward the door.

  His shorter partner, still a few inches over Dakota, grasped her shoulder and pulled her aside. “What happened?”

  The creep appeared out front, shambling toward the entrance, his face bright orange, eyes puffy. Snot and blood ran from his nose, forming tendrils that dangled from his chin.

  “Holy shit,” said the short cop. “A goddamned zombie!”

  The tall cop hurried over as the creep stumbled in and collapsed. When the man lapsed into convulsions, the officer squeezed his shoulder mic. “Dispatch, I need an ambulance to the 7-11 on East Fourteenth Street ASAP.”

  Dakota cringed away as the guy lapsed into a perfect impression of a fish on dry land. He looked quite incapable of harming anyone in his current state. She almost felt a little guilty. Maybe I shouldn’t have shot it up his nose.

  “What did you hit him with?” asked the short cop.

  She sheepishly held up the can. “He grabbed my arms and wouldn’t let go of me.”

  “Habanero Hammer?” asked the cop, wincing. “Damn, that’s some heinous shit.” He took out a pad. “All right, give me the whole story from the top.”

  “Okay.” She leaned against the coffee table, rubbing her hands up and down her arms while going back over everything, including how he’d been in the café earlier and kept staring at her.

  When flashing red lights outside announced an ambulance pulling up, she trailed off, watching the EMTs rush in. They swarmed over the creep. In less than a minute, they stuffed plastic tubing down his throat before loading him on a gurney and rushing him outside.

  “So, this guy accosted you over a video game?” The short cop blinked in disbelief. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not as stupid as it sounds.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” said the tall cop.

  She took a few breaths to calm down. “The company’s got a contest for ten million dollars. My friends and I made progress with the contest, and this guy wanted me to tell him what we did.”

  “Hmm. Well, that’s somewhat more understandable,” said the shorter cop. “Maybe a little overkill hosing him down with that stuff?”

  She fidgeted. “He had me by the arms, shaking me, demanding I tell him what to do. He was at the café before, just staring at me for an hour like some creepy serial killer before Hal kicked him out. And a couple days ago, I had a different creep follow me, so my boyfriend got me this spray.”

  “Oh, you work at Hal’s place?” asked the short cop.

  “Yeah. How many blue haired girls are there around here?” The taller officer grinned.

  “Actually… kind of a lot,” said Dakota, managing a nervous giggle.

  Level Up

  17

  The cops dropped her off at Eric’s building and even walked her up to the door to make sure someone let her inside. For a few tense minutes, it seemed as though she’d have to go with them somewhere else, but Eric eventually opened the door with a telltale ‘just logged out of VR’ disoriented expression.

  “Oh, hey, Babe. What’s up?” He peered out at the cops.

  “Creep issues. Didn’t want to be alone.”

  Eric wiped his eyes. “Shit. Yeah, come on in.” He waved in greeting at the police.

  “A detective will be in contact soon,” said Tall Cop.

  “Thank you.” Dakota smiled at them and headed inside.


  Eric pushed the door closed behind her and locked it. “What happened?”

  She wandered over to the sofa and sat, not bothering to take her coat off. She couldn’t even figure out how to talk until Eric sat beside her.

  “That stuff worked.”

  “Huh?” asked Eric.

  “The spray. I think it worked too well. Guy had to go to the hospital.”

  “Dayum, babe. What happened?” He slid an arm around her back. “Same dude?”

  “No.” She leaned into him and recounted the story again. He gasped when she mentioned shooting the stream up his nose.

  “Ouch.” He grabbed his face. “That’s… shit, babe. Remind me never to piss you off.”

  A nervous laugh leaked out of her.

  “Well, that dude’ll never want to come near you again.” He shook his head, still rubbing his nose. “Christ.”

  “A man attacked me over a game.”

  “Not just a game. A lot of money.” Eric rubbed her shoulder.

  “That doesn’t make it acceptable.”

  “No, but it’s less psychotic at least.” He shook his head. “How the hell did crazy dude even find you?”

  She shivered. “I dunno. He knew I’m on the Stormbringer though. As soon as I get over wanting to curl up in a ball and suck my thumb, I’m going to find out.” She patted her jacket pocket. “Nabbed his wallet.”

  “You pickpocketed the dude?” Eric blinked. “I guess you didn’t mention that to the cops.”

  “Nope. I wanted his information for other, more nefarious reasons. Besides, if the cops ask, I’ll say I grabbed it to get his ID and was too emotionally rattled to remember I had it.”

  He pulled her close. “You’re literally shivering.”

  “I’m emotionally rattled.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m going to become phobic about walking home in the dark. Umm. Is it okay if I spend the night?”

  “Damn sure it’s okay.” He smiled. “I can crash on the sofa.”

  She shrugged. “If you want.”

  “If?” He pursed his lips. “Is our relationship about to level up?”