WPCA - Victim to Another Level Chap 2

Clerk

Her name was Jess. Not Jessica, not Jessie or Jessy, just Jess. Any sort of infraction upon that gilded and wholly original name would cause this rather large woman with bulbous glasses to match to turn those steely, pale-green eyes upon you and whump you one-for. She was in her mid-thirties, a single mom and a clerk. Attempts to flatter her did nothing save to bring on the ravaging ire she so kept with her like an ill-repute husband. One man said this large woman with the shock of frizzled blonde hair and coke-bottle glasses was a bitch. Probably the most accurate statement given to her. Jess wore it like a badge of honor.

If you asked her what she was a clerk of, she would wave a piece of paper in your face as though you were stupid. Fact, Jess didn't like talk, unless she was the one talking. Asking after her family elicited a story about her father, an over-weight and bald fellow, quite irate--to explain Jess' own personality--who, as Jess said, suffered from a chronic itchy ass. He, as Jess so said, carried with him everywhere one bottle of Ex-lax and one TV remote, the latter for purposes unknown, and the former for purposes not wanting to be known.

Suffice to say, Jess was a character. Funnier still, this irate woman of mid-life crisis with a sniveling brat of a child affectionately called "Princess" worked for a man she despised and only stayed on for the fact that even for the asshole that he was, he was a decent enough fellow as to pay her well and on time knowing full well that the shambles that his office was would die at once if it were not for this Queen of Office Clerks.

"Fuck," she says, leaning back in a chair that screams for a lack of oil and the weight being pressed into service against its sole coil spring.

"Andy? Andy where the FUCK have you been?"

The person in question walks in. A tall man, wiry thin with a hallow look about his face and eyes of such a clear and icy blue they look almost white. He has a hawkish nose and a shock of brown-gray hair, fulfilling the role of another middle-aged and very much over-worked individual. His face is set in a twisted little grin, like he's some fox who got into the chicken coop. Only Jess think's he might've just raped a girl for that demented look in his eyes.

He's drenched from the walk, black trenchcoat soaked through. He pulls it off, revealing a damper black shirt to match the sopping blue jeans. he rubs his alien hands together. That's what Jess calls those hands with their huge fingers and short, filed nails. Andy is an even stranger fellow than Jess.

Unlike Jess with her horrid little hellion, Andy is celebrate. You might think he's Catholic, a Priest maybe, but he isn't. Always mumbling under his breath about how them evil Catholic's are out to get him. Stranger still, Andy reads a Bible devoutly, a massive tome of a book smothered in a slick, brown leather cover. He's a man with a father and mother, of whom he never speaks of either ill or well. He has two brothers, both he says are jerk's damned to hell who should die, and a sister that he calls "Hell's Forgotten Bitch," in those exact words.

Much stranger still, Andy, as scrawny as he is, once served five years in the infantry, of which he will not speak about until rightly drunk. Of course, getting the man to drink is a completely different task that Jess is set upon doing. She desires to know the whereabouts of our wiry fellow with a bad case of "Smilingalotus." Only Andy says not a word as he moves into his office, lowers the blinds and slams the door shut.

Cursing vividly with her dexterous tongue, Jess sets about doing the paperwork before her. Bills, bargains and everything money-wise passes along her desk. She knows for a fact that Andy isn't exactly a wholesome citizen, but Jess realizes that if the Police ever come by snooping with enough evidence, this practical woman would turn that bastard in while seeking amnesty from whatever crimes she might have "unknowingly" committed alongside him.

Not long after the door had closed, it opens again, Andy peering out, then walking toward the coffee machine. He takes it black, like usual, guzzling down the boiling liquid and refilling the stained cup that declares he is the "World's Greatest Fisherman," only Andy doesn't fish.

"Where have you been, Andy?" Jess asks after he finishes gulping down the second cup and begin refilling the mug again.

"Oh, I got the latest accessory."

Andy is a coffee addict. He could take up to fifteen cups of the stuff in a day, if not more. It doesn't even keep him awake. Jess thinks he's got some condition and coffee calms his nerves maybe.

"So, you got some calls earlier. I put the papers on your desk so you can take care of 'em."

Andy merely nods, his head bobbing like a bobblehead as he makes his way back to the office. Jess hopes he knows what he's doing. Lord help her, she would make it out of whatever it was this freak was planning this time around, and the next time, and the time after that.