Run From You

Meeting Dexter Lord

The first time I met Dexter Lord, I was doing a favor for a friend while earning a little extra money, doing a bartending job in a high end, exclusive restaurant/club; it had been a long shift with troublesome customers being difficult about their drinks. Apparently if you flashed enough money, you could treat the staff like shit. Yeah, no. That doesn’t fly with me, but this was a favor to my best friend, Airon, and I’d promised I’d behave myself…it took a lot of self-restraint, let me tell you that!

By 11pm that night when Dexter’s large group of men, who looked so dangerous they should be illegal, came in I had just about reached the end of my self restraint and was so close to throwing wads of money at every single hot headed jerk demanding I make their drinks first. Fortunately, the bar manager who’d been working down the other end of the bar teaching a new trainee, happened to choose that time to come and check on me and only had to take one look at my expression before asking me to take a tray of drinks over to the large party who’d arrived not long ago. “Oh and Angel,” I look up at the bar manager, “Don’t look any of them in the eye.” He warns. Odd request, but, what the hell? I wanted to leave now anyway, its not like I wanted to make eye contact with any them since it might inevitably lead to conversation.

I had to do two drink runs; it was on the second, as I was putting a gin and tonic in front of one of the men, that two things happened. The first; I caught the tail end of their conversation on how to go about getting a girl, which led to the second thing; the man whose gin and tonic I’d be serving smacked my arse, pretty damn hard. I froze as a blaze of explosive fury filled from the top of my head to my littlest toe. “Amateur,” spoke the man on my other side, amused. Just as I threw the other man’s gin and tonic in his face, the man on my other side rose to his feet, spun me around and planted a kiss on my lips. I snapped.

Like a volcano erupting, I shoved the man backwards against the table, pulled back and slapped him so hard the sound resounded around the room; in the same move, I’d picked up a steak knife from the table and swiped it clean across his other cheek. I just caught his low curses. Everyone in the room gasped, dropped their jaws or choked on their food in shock at what I’d just done. Consequently, everything seemed to momentarily freeze. My blood boiled so intensely, my sense of morals had flown out the window and in this situation, my anger blocked out every possible care I might have had if I wasn’t blinded by rage and could think straight.

With the amount of blood now dripping from the cut, down his cheek and onto his shirt, it dawned on me just how deep I must have cut him; he'd definitely always have a scar for that, and as he very slowly turned his face back towards me, I noticed the sharp red mark on his other cheek. I couldn’t find it in me to be sorry, not in the slightest. Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn, and right now, I could melt the room to the ground. “Try that again,” I began in a strangely collected voice, “and next time-” I spoke aiming another strike of the knife in between his legs, low enough to miss everything, yet higher enough to cause him to jerk his legs apart to avoid damage. He curses again. This action put me right at his ear, “It’ll be more than just a cut, and on something far more valuable.” I hissed, abruptly turning my back on him and waltzing through the kitchen to the staff breaking area.

Ten minutes later, after I’d somewhat regained control on my temper, and had re-entered the kitchen, the bar-manager accosted me, “What the Hell was that?” He spat, fear underlying his anger as he took breath about to offload but I cut in.

“What was that? Do you mean the sexual harassment or my self defense?” I asked through clenched teeth, fists clenched. What was so big about that guy that people around him clearly think its OK that he gets away with sexual harassment?

“Do even know who that was?” He demands, his face paling. I roll my eyes, my annoyance returning.

“No, and I don’t give two shits either.” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest to prevent myself from hitting him. I’d already slapped and knifed one guy, while throwing a drink over another, I didn’t need to add hitting another guy to the list. I’d be lucky if nobody pressed charges. Note to self; get anger management.

“Well you should! That was Dexter Lord.” He yelled, his voice going high pitched in fear. I wasn’t surprised by this naming announcement; it certainly explained everyone’s shock at my actions. I knew who Dexter Lord was; you’d have to be stranded in the middle of the Pacific Ocean to not know who he was. Drug Lord extraordinaire and King of the ‘Underworld’ i.e. the world in which drug cartels, gangs, and every other illegal thing is connected. Still, I wasn’t scared of Dexter Lord, adrenaline wouldn’t let me feel anything but defensive emotions and fear didn’t come into that category.

“I don’t care if he’s God and Santa combined! He has no right treating a woman that way! If he wants an apology from me then he’ll have to show me his other cheek first, cause I’ll drop dead before apologizing to that egotistical, high horsed, Arsehole!” Without waiting for a reply, I grabbed my things and stormed out the back room fire exist. I went for a long run that evening, regardless that it was the middle of the night and probably dangerous, not to mention creepy to be out so late; when I got back to my apartment, I cried. Cried out all my adrenaline, all my anger and my traitorous feelings contrary to what I wanted to feel towards Dexter Lord.

Unfortunately for me, little did I know, that wasn’t the last I’d see of him…