Word of the Day: Irascible

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Irascible (adj.): 1. easily provoked to anger; very irritable

2. characterized or produced to anger

I was in the middle row of the SUV drumming my fingers against the inside of the door when I noticed her through the back window. Barely on time, but on time nonetheless. I waited to see what she was going to do. Why did they send her?  She had walked over to my side of the car and stopped at my window, nothing but a silhouette behind the tint. A wraith even. Personally, I didn’t trust the bitch, so instead of rolling down my window, I pushed the button to my driver’s window. It went down slow, the only thing daring to speak, cutting the tension like a guillotine to neck. And the tension persisted.

She obviously got the memo and walked up to my driver’s window and poked her head into the car, not bothering to look at me, but instead glared towards the very back where my nephew sat with horrid eyes, his hands resting quietly in his lap for all to see. He knew he had fucked up. But he’s still young, though quite the lout I might add.  I hadn’t taken my eyes off of the woman in blue. Her faint smell polluted my car with a tropic aroma I wouldn’t want my side bitch to wear. I snorted audibly. The next thing that came through that window was that bitch’s finger. It singled out my nephew with a certainty colder than the truth of her presence.

“Don’t get in our way again,” she said. I felt my temper begin to flare. Me being the mafia boss I am, I fully understand how important it is for my nephew to take responsibility for his actions. Him killing one of their plugs is bad for business, true enough, but he is family. That’s not what made me mad. What made me irascible was how close her finger had come to my face. So, what had happened next was beyond my control.

I grabbed her finger, the delicate thing, feeling the phalanges and metacarpals so vulnerable and ready to submit to my will with a simple jerk of my hand.

“Watch who the fuck you’re talking to,” I said. Everything in me wanted to break that finger clutched in my grasp. And I was going to had it not been for that petrified look she gave me.

“He costed us a man. We can’t tolerate losing our men, especially not for the simplest of tasks.”

Her finger trembled in my muscled hand.

“I don’t care what he did. You need to mind where you’re sticking your body parts. You get my drift?” I squeezed her finger and watched her eyes stretch more in horror.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It had better not,” I said, the words bitter as sour milk. I shoved her hand away from me and reached into the back pocket of my driver’s seat to pull out an envelope.

“Here. This should make up for your losses.”

She took the white envelope and said, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Indeed. You will do well to remember your place in the future. That will be all.” And I rolled up the window without warning, almost decapitating her head in the process.

Dumb bitch.

 

 

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