He narrowed his eyes at me, pushed out of the booth and stomped over to the cash desk where Ash had returned and was playing a game on his mobile phone."Sorry, sir," he echoed, dead-pan, and then added: "She is the owner."He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "And she's righ' crazy, so I wouldn't mess with her. She stabbed someone with a plastic fork just last week.""A--a plastic fork?" the man said, looking over at me nervously."Yeah, and you would not believe the mess. A carving knife woulda made cleaner work of it."The man slapped a few coins on the counter near the cash and, clutching the remains of his paper, dashed out the door."Thanks, Ash," I said, absently."No probs," he said. "Chasing zombies on my phone--fair inspirational, aye?
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