Radley’s eyes widened. “That’s, like . . . a ton of money. Don’t feel like you have to. I mean, you have to buy the bandanna, and that shirt, since you slimed all over it, but . . .”
“No. I do need the clothes. Thank you.” He started to unbutton the printed shirt.
“No! Stop. Wear those out of the store. Please. For everyone’s sake.” He glanced at the clothes still hanging in the dressing room. “Are you sure you want everything? Your wallet may scream.”
“I can afford it. And it’s all nice stuff.”
“How would you know?” Radley said, raising an eyebrow and grinning like a stylish elf. He pointed to Josh’s red-and-yellow polyester shirt. “I can burn that shirt for you in case you’re ever tempted to wear it again.”
Josh almost smiled. “My friend got it for me in Korea.”
“Does she hate you?” He smiled. “Did she also force you to wear those cargo shorts and those . . .” He paused to shudder. “Birkenstocks?”
“No.” Lauren hated them, too. The smile was small, but it was real.
“So maybe you should come here more often. Would you like to take out a Banana Republic card? You’ll get a discount.” He lowered his voice. “And I’ll get bonus points from my boss.”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, they left the store and walked out toward the exit to the parking garages, past the mall-based restaurants, all of which had tables set up in the vast food court.
“I can ride with you,” Radley said. “I’m car-free at the moment, and I promise I’m not a serial killer. I know a place where no one will bother us and the drinks are cheap. These places?” He gestured to a franchise Josh recognized from their late-night ads for two-pound burgers and bottomless barrels of fries. “I wouldn’t eat in one of these mall restaurants. First, I know we’d find a hair in our food. Second, it’s so noisy! How do people have conversations here?”
As if on cue, there was a crash, and they both looked over. A female server had just dropped a full tray—plates and glasses, liquid and food were everywhere. A giant burger sat right on a man’s groin, with french fries littering his pants.
“For fuck’s sake!” bellowed the male customer, who wore a T-shirt proclaiming his love of guns. He jolted out of his seat, towering over the waitress. The people around them fell silent.
The waitress put her hands over her face, and for a second, Josh thought the angry man might hit her.
“Hey!” Josh yelled. Redness flared at the edges of his vision. Never a good sign.
“Are you that stupid that you can’t even carry a tray?” the gun lover yelled at her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. Somehow, she looked familiar.
“Does that help me? No, you stupid—”
The red flared. “Leave her alone. It was an accident,” Josh called. At least ten people whipped out their phones, sensing trouble. The gun lover turned toward him, his face florid now that he couldn’t eat his heart-attack-on-a-plate.
“Food service and retail,” Radley murmured. “People treat us like we’re scum.”
“Is this your problem?” the irate customer asked, coming toward them.
Good. The red flared again. Bring it on, asshole. Josh hopped over the little fence that separated the food court tables from the rest of the mall. “I think it is,” he said.
“And here comes the mall’s violent crime of the day,” Radley said. Josh barely heard him.
“You mind your own business!” the asshole said. “You got something to say?”
Contradictory statements, Josh thought. “It was an accident. Cut her some slack.” His voice was guttural. Another sign of a red-out. Good.
“Why should I? She dumped food on me, the stupid slut.”
Josh’s fists tightened.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Radley said.
The man leaned in toward Radley, who didn’t flinch. “Watch your back, faggot. You see this shirt? You never know what I might be packing.”
Then the man reached behind his back (to grab a gun?) and the red tar surged in Josh’s vision. Then his fist hurt, and his arm was extended, and the bully staggered back, crashing into a table and then landing on the floor in the puddle of drinks the waitress had spilled.
The crowd started clapping. The man tried to get up, then slipped and fell back down. “My back!” he howled.
Regrettable. Josh had been hoping for a fight. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox. That lazy-ass dog.
The redness faded. Someone was talking to him. “Josh? Joshua? Are you okay?” It was his new friend. Radley.
“I’m fine.”
“You punched that guy.”
“Yeah.” He definitely had. He looked at his recently abused knuckles, which were a fresh shade of red.
A man came running out of the restaurant with a mall security guard. “Fred!” Radley said. “It’s about time! That man was harassing his waitress. Then he threatened to shoot me.”
“Do you want to file a report?” the guard asked. “I can call the real police.”
“I don’t even have a gun!” the bully wailed from the floor.
“We can still press charges for harassment,” the guard said.
“Hm,” said Radley. “Well, seeing him lying in a dirty puddle of Pepsi is reward enough for me.” He turned to Josh. “Joshua? What do you think?”
“I’m the one who’s going to file a report!” the man barked. “He hit me! That queer hit me!”
Radley tsked. “Hate speech, terrible gaydar and a gun lover. Color me shocked.”
Josh glanced at him, a little surprised that Radley wasn’t more upset. Radley correctly interpreted his glance and shrugged. “This happens more than you want to know.”
The crowd was taking pictures of the anus lying on the floor. “Hashtag gun-threatening-homophobe, hashtag Providence-mall,” one person said. “What’s your name, homophobe? I definitely want to tag you. I filmed the whole thing. Bet CNN will love this.”
“His name is Donnie Plum,” someone offered. “My cousin used to work with him. He’s an asshole.”
The security guard asked if Josh wanted to call the police. Josh wasn’t sure why he was the one being asked. He had done the hitting, after all. “What do you think?” he asked Radley.