Prompts courtesy of Cake.shortandsweet‘s Wednesday Write In.
Dzinski sipped at his coffee and stared at the egg salad sandwich on the chipped plate in front of him. The bread was fresh when his mother was an apple-cheeked girl and the chicken that laid it was most likely rubber. He finished his coffee, staring at the thick sludge and singed grounds swirling in the bottom of the cup.
A sharp prick at his neck, like a wasp’s stinger, interrupted his meditation.
His eyes moved slowly to the right, where a thin man with a thin moustache and hair shellacked back from his forehead, sat there smiling. He pulled the stiletto from Dzinski’s neck and let it fall back in his sleeve.
“You’re getting old,” the thin man said, slipping out from beside him, and into the opposite bench.
“I wouldn’t say old,” Dzinski said, rubbing his palms on the table. “Contemplative, maybe.”
The thin man snorted and looked at him sideways.
“You should move out of the city then, find a place in the woods, overlooking a lake.”
“What do you want, Francis,” Dzinski said. “I mean, besides discussing my retirement plans?”
“The Boss sent me to find you. He wants to talk to you.”
Francis ignored him. He pulled the stiletto out and began to clean under his nails. Dzinski caught the waitress’ eye and held his cup up for her to fill. When she left, he reached over, grabbed the thug by the hair and slammed the cup into Francis’s cheek until the ceramic shattered. Dzinski stopped.
Francis’s face was covered in bright red blood and bubbling blisters.
Dzinski was out of his booth and stood looming over Francis, chest heaving and fists clenched. The thin man whimpered and grew small in the corner against the wall.
“Next time you put a knife to my throat, you better slice,” he said. “Tell your boss I’m busy.”
Dzinski paid for his lunch and dropped and extra sawbuck down for the broken cup. He apologized to the waitress and left the restaurant.