GENRE: YA Scifi
At least he didn't call her crazy.
From the time the red-haired, green-scaled businessman called Lem a witch to the time she chopped him down like a holly bush—eh, about four seconds. No one else in the ice cream parlor interrupted. No one helped, either. The space-lemur policeman in the corner stared at the phone in his paws, ears perked as he pretended not to see; the Wonderfrog server behind the counter tapped his bulging fingertips on his skull like desserts really worried him.
Lem tightened her grip on the businessman's wrist. “Whatever I am, everyone in here knows you're selling little girls to the greys,” she snarled in the businessman's ear, spitting through her teeth as she pushed his face harder into the table. “And one day I'll prove it and get Officer Scritch over there off his duff for a change.” She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “But the day you talk to my sister again? Officer Scritch won't be lookin' for you. Won't be a you to find.”
The businessman grunted. He got it. A'ight. Lem straightened, threw back her shoulders, and wiped her brow on the sleeve of her rough brown civvies as she yanked the guy up from the plastic booth where she'd thrown him. She gave him a reassuring pat on the back as he wheezed. Perv had asthma. “Now get out so I can enjoy my ice cream in peace.”
Her wristband lit up. So much for finishing in peace—shyte, how'd her captain catch her already?