For His Taste (2 page)

“He took it!” the man cried.  “And
my wallet.  Here.  Look.”

The man moved his head and showed
Beth a smash gash on his head.  The blood ran down and he wiped it with his
sleeve. 

“You’re bleeding,” Beth said.

“Open the door,” the man said. 
“Please.”

“No,” Beth said.  “I’ll call the
police…”

“I need to call my girlfriend.  He
was heading to my apartment!  What if he kills her?”

Beth’s hand was at the lock a
second later.  She started to turn it but stopped. 

“Wait,” Beth said.  “Here.  You
could take my phone then, okay?”

“Sure,” the man said.  “Just open
the door.  Please.”

Beth turned the lock and the look
in the man’s eyes changed.  The pain in his eyes flashed to anger and hatred. 
Before Beth could say a word, the man kicked the door.  It was open, forcing
her against the wall.  The door slammed into her chest, knocking the air from
her lungs.  Her eyes started to blur but not before she watched her cell phone
fall from her hand to the floor. 

The man was inside, turning with
lightning speed, locking the door.

He took his hand from his pocket,
holding a small black gun, pointing it at Beth.

Beth’s only instinct at that point
was to cry. 

She felt stupid and now used.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She turned her head to the right
and hold a flashback of herself walking the same street years back, in the
summer, licking an ice cream cone, trying to beat the heat so the ice cream
wouldn’t melt on her hand.  That was a time when she could do something like
that.  But today, the reality of the world…

“Shut the fuck up!”

The man meant business.

Beth’s next instinct was to raise
her hands above her head.  It was what people did in movies, so why not try it
in real life?

“Where’s the fucking register?” the
man growled.

Beth nodded to the counter.  “Over…
over there…”

“Take me there, open it up.  You
try anything funny, you’re dead.”

Beth nodded and let out a whimper
and then lost herself. 

“Come on fast ass, move!”

As she turned, the words sunk into
her.  More violent images came back to her, being teased and bullied, being
left stranded by men who she thought could be lovers and worse yet, men who
thought she would be an easy fuck because of her weight.  The idea that a woman
would be easier to seduce because of her weight pained Beth.  She was a normal
woman, with feelings, and needs.

Right now, she needed to make it
through this night.

She felt the barrel of the gun
press against her back.

“Move faster,” the man said. 
“Hell, maybe I’m doing you a favor.  You walk faster, sweat some of that weight
off…”

Beth wept.  She wanted to defend
herself.  To hell with the money and the bakery.  She wanted to defend
herself. 

How could a stranger be so vile to
another human like this?

She walked to the register and
pressed a button with a shaking finger.  The register made a sound and the
drawer popped open.

The man slammed his shoulder into
Beth and she side stepped and reached for the counter to keep herself some
falling.  When she did, her hand hit the cookie case.  It slid to the edge of
the counter and teetered for a second before falling.  It fell open and cookies
scattered on the floor.

Everything was a mess, a big
fucking mess.

“Is that everything?” the man
asked.

He turned to Beth and pointed the
gun at her face.

She cried out and closed her eyes. 
She didn’t want to see the gun anymore.

Please
, she thought,
please…
no gun… please…

Her heart pounded so hard she could
hear the thudding sound echoing in her body.

“There’s no more,” Beth said. 
“Please… you have the money…”

“No safe in the back?”

Beth opened her eyes and shook her
head.  “No.  You can look…”

“Fuck,” the man growled. 

His eyes looked up and down Beth’s
body.  The look he gave her made her shiver.  She’d seen those eyes before in a
man and knew they held intentions that could scar her for life.  Her hands were
still shaking as she brought them up.  She wished she could wrap herself in
blankets and hide her curves. 

The man scowled.  “You know… I’m
feeling pretty good right now…”

He stepped towards Beth and she
stepped back.  Logic told her she’d run out of room and a few seconds later she
did.  Her back hit the counter and there was nothing else she could do now.  If
she swung her knee up into the man’s groin, it would have to be a hard hit to
make him not shoot her. 

She was stuck.

Literally.

The man inched closer to her,
breathing heavy.  His pockets were filled with the money from the register.

“Figures I’d pick a bakery,” he
said.  “Look at you.  Fat thing.”

“Stop,” Beth whispered.  The tears
streamed down her face.  Her fear of death started to subside to her fear of
hearing those kinds of words.  They were just as lethal as a weapon, only
hearing those words allowed her to live… live in pain and doubt, letting it eat
her away like a disease.

“If you were pretty little thing,”
the man said, “with little curves… I’d bend you over the counter…”

Beth cried out.  “Stop it!”

“What’s wrong?  Jealous?  Mad
because I won’t do it?  You might be lucky you’re fat, tonight at least.”

The man backed up, step by step,
holding the gun at Beth’s face. 

She stared at him, knowing she
should be memorizing his features. 

His rough looking face that
suggested booze or drugs.  His brown eyes.  Uneven eyebrows.  A small scar near
his left eyebrow.  A silver earring in his… right ear.  Yes, right ear.  The
hand holding the gun has a tattoo on it too.  On each knuckle, there’s
something written.

Beth’s mind hears herself saying
all this but her hands touch her hips and move towards her stomach.  She feels
her curves, her extra large curves, the curves the criminal wouldn’t touch. 
The thought disturbs her – did she want this man to touch her?  To force
himself on her?

“Oh, look at this,” the man said. 

He was in front of the counter.  He
nodded down to the mess of cookies on the floor.

Beth’s body shook with fear and she
gasped for air over and over, forcing herself to look where the man pointed. 
He was so close to just being gone…
just go…

“You have a snack,” he said and
then stepped towards the cookies.  He lifted his right foot into the air and
Beth’s mind took a mental snapshot of the thick black boot he wore.  It then
crashed down on the cookie, breaking it into pieces.  He let out a quick laugh
and looked at Beth with those evil eyes again.  “There you go… you can lick
that one off the floor…
pig
…”

With that, the man turned and fled
the bakery.

He ran out and to the left, gone
from Beth’s life, but far from leaving her memory.

The passing minute could have been
a lifetime.  The neon clock ticked, the bakery fell so silent that Beth could
hear the second hand moving.  The saddest part of the ordeal was that the
bakery had started to fill with the fresh smell of the cupcakes, that warm
sweet smell that filled Beth’s heart and kept her going, even on her worst
days.

This night, however, was perhaps
worse than worse.

She felt herself edging into shock
and had to snap out of it.  If she didn’t focus, the bakery could catch on
fire.  Then what?  Burn with the bakery?  Die because of some man’s words? 

“No,” Beth whispered.  “No… no…”

She found the strength to step
forward.  One step turned to two and she quickly hurried around the corner back
to the front door of the bakery.  She turned the lock and pulled a few times,
cursing out loud, knowing she should have just left the damn door locked.  She
then turned and found her cell phone.  As she stared at the screen, she swore
she could still feel the uncomfortable pressure of the gun against her back. 
She spun around expecting to see the man standing there, but he was gone.

Long gone.

Forever gone, probably.

She phoned in the robbery and as
she spoke to the operator, she saw the cookies on the floor.  Two dozen
cookies, some broken in half, some not.  The obvious one that had been crushed
by the man’s boot. 

The operator offered to stay on the
line with Beth until police came, but Beth hung up.

The words plagued her mind.

Fat.

Fat ass.

Pig.

Fat thing…

She found fresh tears and walked to
the cookies. 

And then one by one, she crushed
each cookie, wishing, in so many ways, it was herself she was crushing.

**

Robert Ians rubbed his cheek for
the third time, reviewing the financing proposal for the eminent take over of a
single block in a small town.  His boss had been obsessed with the idea and the
project for months (probably more like years for all Robert knew).  However, it
wasn’t until the last quarter ended with record profits that Mr. Galloway started
talking about the new project.  The talking led to obsessing and the obsessing
led to a one hundred page proposal that Robert had been given two days ago.

On paper, it looked great.

It looked easy.

Most of the buildings were in
decent shape, just needed minor
facelifts
, as Mr. Galloway put it.  They
also needed their owners to be removed, including tenants that lived in
apartments.  Opening a checkbook that had the appearance of a never ending
balance was something Mr. Galloway took pride in.  It bothered Robert that even
though three years ago the entire company was on the brink of collapse, Mr.
Galloway still acted this way.  He had leveraged himself into a financial hole,
unable to move or breathe sometimes, struggling to pay employees.  He mortgaged
himself to the max and had things so cross-collateralized, it actually ended up
helping him because the trail took forever to figure out.  It seemed that
before the economy took a turn, Mr. Galloway just signed and signed and
signed. 

At the last possible second, a bank
came through and saved his company with a desperation loan that allowed Robert
to work out other deals.  They survived the economic crash and with Robert’s
help, they stayed on track and on course, finally turning back to
profitability. 

Until now.

If this project worked, it would be
a nice addition to the company.  A long term project that would help the local
economy, keep contractors employed for a while, and then bring something new to
an old town.  Then again… it would bring something new to an old town.  Robert
grew up in an old town and he remembered when they started tearing down old
buildings for new ones.  He remembered when the local hardware store closed, followed
by a local market, sports store, and even his favorite ice cream shop.  Big box
retail stepped in and wiped out small business. 

No matter how Robert tried to spin
it in his mind, it’s what he did now for a living.  Working in commercial real
estate and investing had once been fun.  It was more or less a
get in, get
out
kind of deal, seeing what the bottom line balance was going to be. 
Watching residuals come in, rent payments, even some royalty payments for
certain projects, it all added up.  The money was great, his lifestyle just
what he wanted, but lately, Mr. Galloway had him working on more than just
financials.  He wanted Robert in the mix of things, to perhaps takeover the
company someday.

Now on the final page of the
proposal, Robert skimmed it and closed the document.  He slid it next to him,
folded his hands, and rested his chin on them.  It didn’t matter what he really
thought of the deal, it was going to happen.  His job now was to control the damage. 
Make sure Mr. Galloway stayed within budget and didn’t go crazy signing deals
like he had done in the past.

“It’s a gem, right?”

Robert looked into Mr. Galloway’s
eyes.  He sat across from Robert, his eyes wide.  He looked like an eager
child, waiting to hear
Yes!
from their parents.

“It looks interesting,” Robert
said.

Mr. Galloway waved his hands.  “Not
interesting.  Genius.  Bobby, listen, we’re not going in and tearing things
down.  We’re making things better…”

“Making things better?  Aren’t we
getting rid of most of the businesses there?”

“The businesses?” Mr. Galloway
asked.  He frowned and his face suddenly became stern.  That innocent, childish
look in his eyes was replaced with the eyes of an annoyed rattlesnake.  His lip
even curled a little.  Five years ago that look put the fear of hell into
Robert, but he had learned that sometimes Mr. Galloway needed someone to stand up
to him.  The
yes men
helped him slip into the financial crisis he had
been in a few years back. 

Mr. Galloway leaned forward and
licked his lips.  “The businesses on that street?  Bobby, do your homework. 
Half the buildings are empty, along with the apartments.  There’s an eighty-one
year old man who owns a baseball card shop.  The only reason he stays in
business is because he owns everything.  There’s a small travel agency and some
kind of clothing and antique shop.  The only place on the street that seems
viable and surviving is a small bakery.”

“A bakery?” Robert asked.  “They
still exist?”

“Small town living,” Mr. Galloway
said.  “But there’s a problem with that too.  Here, look.”

Mr. Galloway presented an article
printed online from the local paper of Harving, the town they were planning on
helping to rebuild. 

“Read the top,” Mr. Galloway said. 
“Aloud.  For the class to hear.”

He opened his arms and then folded
them behind his head.  He leaned back in the chair and smiled.