Delivering a Message
By Montrose
Being the friend of a playboy can be dangerous 

Jim has a lot to learn. Maybe, so do I for hanging out with his dumb-ass. Confidence 
poured from Jim like wine from a bottle. It lingered in his step.

It used to, that is. 

It was only a week ago that I was out at the mall, walking with the old, confident, ladies 
man Jim. We stopped at a coffee stand and he bought me a tall one while he rambled on 
about his latest conquest (and also got the cute barista's phone number). We're walking 
with our drinks when something hits Jim from the side and pushes him down a 
maintenance tunnel. 

It's a girl!

She's wearing a short, pleated skirt and pink hightop sneakers. Her blouse has a strap 
over one shoulder only. With the muscles she displayed, it reminded me of a Tarzan top 
over a fantasy schoolgirl skirt. She stands as tall as Jim, five feet ten.

Immediately, I'm laughing to see him backed up against a wall by this young thing. Jim's 
laughing too. "Slow down, darling," he says. "I don't even know your name yet."

Like I said, he was a confident guy.

This girl hauls off and slaps Jim so hard he drops his coffee. He's stunned. So am I, to be 
honest. A red mark grows on his face.

"Are you Jim Adams?" the girl snarls into his face.

"What of it," snapped Jim back.

She slapped him again, on the other side. This time Jim tried to stop her, but she was too 
quick. All he did was piss her off even more. Now she's throwing punches. Lefts and 
rights are landing all over his head. One of them busts open his nose. Another follows. 
His head is bouncing off the wall behind him.

I'm just standing with my jaw hanging open, watching all this girl beat the shit out of his 
face. At first, Jim had his hands up, but pretty soon, they drop to his sides as she keeps 
wailing on him. I look at his face and can see that he's out cold. But she keeps pounding 
on him.

He starts to slide down the wall, but this crazy bitch grabs his shoulders and pulls him 
back up. Then she starts planting her knee in his gut, over and over while she holds him 
up.

"Hey!" I finally say.

Crazy Bitch turns to look at me, but keeps kneeing Jim in the gut. "You with him?" she 
asks in between blows.

"Uh..."

"Why don't you come over here and help him out?" she asks. "Can't you see I'm killing 
this fucker?"

I stepped one step closer. She smiled and kneed Jim again.

"Come on then," she encouraged me. When I didn't move, she said, "I see. You're just a 
chicken shit. Am I right? You're going to watch me kill this fucker and just stand there, 
are you, chicken shit?"

I took another step.

She dropped Jim to one side.

I took a step back.

"Cluck like a chicken, chicken shit," she told me.

I gulped. She was two inches taller than me and much broader in the shoulders. I knew I 
couldn't run fast enough to get away.

She took a step toward me. "I said, cluck like a chicken, Bitch!"

Very quietly, I clucked. Once.

"Again."

"Cluck."

"Now, put your hands on that wall," she told me. She indicated the blood stain that had 
once been where Jim's head rested. When I didn't move fast enough, she slapped me. I 
felt my lips fly off to one side from the impact.

I trotted to the wall.

"Assume the position, Bitch."

I knew what she meant. Like on the cop shows. I spread my legs and bent over. Hands on 
the wall.

Her foot slammed up into my balls from behind.

I dropped and went fetal.

Crazy Bitch pulled me up to a seated position and talked with her face right in mine. "The 
only reason I don't do you as bad as I did Jim, is so you can tell him why. Think you can 
deliver a little message, chicken shit?"

I nodded and tried to breathe.

"You tell Lover Boy over there that if he messes with my sister Ann again, I'm not going 
to go so easy on him next time. Can you remember that?"

I nodded.

"Repeat it back to me, chicken shit."

I repeated it word for word in a falsetto.

"Good. If I find out you screwed up, I'll turn you into a fist puppet. You got that?" I 
nodded. "And if he does touch my sister, when I'm done with him, I'm coming after you. 
Got it?" I nodded a lot.

She patted me on the head. "Say good night, chicken shit."

"Good night?"

Then I saw a flash of her fist headed toward my face.

Jim and I lay all curled up in that back hall until a security guard spotted us and called an 
ambulance. I woke up when the paramedics where checking my pulse. They let me crawl 
over to Jim who was just coming to.

I whispered the Crazy Bitch's message to him. Then, I poked him in the ribs, which one 
of the paramedics said was broken. Jim winced. That's when I told him if I ever hear he 
messed with any girl called Ann, I would take a baseball bat to him before that Crazy 
Bitch even had time to show up. Maybe that would get her to show me some mercy.

Jim isn't so cocky anymore. And I can't help looking over my shoulder whenever I'm in 
the mall.