Turns out, the universe has its own plans for keeping Haymore on his toes today.
I’m halfway through my call with the kitchen when the trouble starts.
I hear the shouts first. They’re faint—from somewhere down the hall? I frown, pulling the receiver slightly away from my ear so I can hear better.
After a few seconds, it comes again. There’s definitely someone yelling. Multiple someones. And it doesn’t sound good.
“I’ll have to call you back,” I say quickly into the phone before hanging up. I leap up from my desk and hurry out to the hallway. Mr. Haymore races out of his office at the same time.
“What’s going on?” he says. “What—”
Down the hall, in the direction of the main entrance, the shouting picks up again, and though I can’t make out the words, it’s clear that someone’s definitely ticked off.
Mr. Haymore’s eyes go wide in horror. He doesn’t say a word to me, just rushes past me down the hall. I race after him. There’s no way I’m missing this, whatever it is.
“Fuck you!” I hear as we get closer. “You fucking asswipe! You lying piece of—ooof!” The man’s shouting cuts off to the unmistakable sound of someone getting socked.
“Stop it!” a woman cries. “Both of you! Stop!”
There’s the sound of a struggle, and Haymore and I round the corner just in time to see someone get pushed against the wall. The man hits a portrait, knocking the piece from its hooks. The frame cracks and splits as it hits the floor. The man himself is already back on his feet, and he looks ready to kill.
It only takes me a minute to take it all in. While a small crowd of employees has started to gather, they’ve left a wide berth between themselves and the three people who seem to be behind this commotion: the man who just face-planted against the wall, a pretty brunette woman, and a surprisingly calm-looking handyman.
My handyman.
The bottom drops out of my stomach when I recognize the nameless, auburn-haired target of my temporary insanity. So much for avoiding him. I consider turning around and running back to my office, but I find that my feet can’t move. I’m too curious.
The brunette is tugging at the arm of the other man. There’s blood on his face, but I can’t tell whether it’s from his nose or his lip. Probably the nose. His blond hair is pushed up in all directions, and his T-shirt is torn. The woman is trying to pull him away, but he ignores her. He’s seething.
It’s pretty clear, even to me, a casual observer, what’s going on here. You’ve got two guys fighting and a girl trying to pull them apart. That can only mean one thing. Looks like my handyman is a regular Casanova.
Mr. Haymore pushes through the people who’ve gathered near us. “What the hell is going on—”
The blond guy with the bloody nose roars and charges. The woman shrieks again, but Casanova ducks easily out of the reach of his opponent. Bloody Nose definitely has the height in this battle, but his opponent has the speed and the muscle. When Bloody Nose comes in for another charge, Casanova clocks him right in the cheek.
Beside me, Mr. Haymore’s starting to go purple.
“Stop this!” he demands. “Stop this right now!”
No one hears him. For a minute I think Haymore’s actually going to run out into the middle of the brawl, but he’s not that reckless. Even for the sake of keeping this place a respectable establishment.
The young woman, however, is a little braver. And she doesn’t seem particularly interested in watching one of her lovers beat the other to a pulp. She steps in and grabs Bloody Nose’s arm again.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go.”
But the blond guy jerks out of her grasp. “I’m not going anywhere with you, bitch.”
My friend Casanova raises his hands in a calming gesture. “Why don’t we try and discuss this like adults?” I don’t miss the glint of amusement in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. He’s having a friggin’ blast.
Bloody Nose sees it, too. “Like fuck we will.”
He lunges for Casanova again, and this time he catches the handyman by the front of the T-shirt. He pushes him up against the wall, but Casanova just grins at him.
“Come on, Luke,” Casanova says. “Is she really worth all of this?”
The woman makes a sound of protest, but for a moment, Bloody Nose—Luke—falters. Casanova reaches up and grabs him by the wrists.
“Let it go,” he says. “There are plenty of other chicks out there. Better ones than her.”
Luke relaxes his hands, and Casanova slips free and moves to the nearest doorway.
“Now if you don’t mind, I need to be getting back to work like a good little employee,” he says. There’s still humor in his voice, but it’s darker now. Almost bitter.
For a moment, it looks like it’s going to end just like that. No one moves. Even Mr. Haymore is perfectly still beside me.
“Oh,” Casanova adds suddenly, “And you better get someone to look at that nose. It’s gushing all over the place.”
That’s all it takes. Luke lets out a roar of unbridled rage and throws himself at his opponent.
The two men crash into the room behind Casanova. There’s the sound of a scuffle, a crash—and then wood splintering.
None of us can get to the doorway fast enough.
“Out of my way!” Mr. Haymore shouts, but no one listens. All of the onlookers want to see how this plays out, and we all try to cram ourselves through the doorway. Above the heads of the other employees, I hear the scuffle of feet, more cursing, and the smack of a fist hitting flesh.
And then, just when I think it might be over, we’re treated to the sound of glass shattering. A lot of glass.
Mr. Haymore finally manages to force his way into the room, and I’m right behind him. The place is a mess. Several tables have been overturned, and two long display cases are in pieces on the floor, their contents buried beneath splinters of wood. But that’s not the worst of it. On the far side of the room, the window’s completely gone.
So are the two men.
Haymore darts over to the window—or the hole where the window used to be. His eyes are so wide they look like they’re about to pop out of his head. The young woman who was at the center of all this drama draws up beside him, her mouth open in shock.
We’re on the first floor, so they couldn’t have fallen that far, but I can’t imagine tumbling through glass is pleasant under any circumstances. I edge closer to the window. Outside, the two men are slowly dragging themselves to their feet. Shards of glass tumble off of their hair and clothes like crystalline rain.