Bullies Targets The Wrong A Waitress — Unaware She's A Karate Black Belt Working Part-Time
Chapter 4
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Ten minutes later, Walt Higgins got up from his booth to head to the counter for a refill. He was seventy-six, and though his hands were steady, his knees weren't what they used to be. He walked slow, careful, past the wrestlers' table.Braden, without looking, stuck his leg out. Not far, just enough.Walt caught himself on the edge of the booth, coffee cup nearly slipping from his hand."Watch it, old-timer," Braden said, grinning at his friends, not even looking at Walt as he said it.The diner went quiet for a second. Just a second.Joe was already moving. She reached Walt before he even fully steadied himself, one hand under his elbow. "You all right, Walt?" she asked."Fine, fine," Walt said, though his jaw was tight. "Takes more than that to knock me down."Braden watched this whole thing with a small, amused smile, like it was a show put on for him. "Relax," he said. "Nobody touched him."Joe looked at him for a moment. She didn't raise her voice. "You should watch where you put your feet," she said. "Someone could get hurt.""Someone could," Braden agreed, still smiling. "Not my problem, though."She helped Walt back to his booth, got him a fresh cup, and went back to work. She didn't say anything else. Not yet. That should have been the end of it. It wasn't.Twenty minutes later, Braden waved her over again. "Hey, new girl, come here."She walked over."These eggs are cold," he said, though he had barely touched them."I can bring you a fresh plate," she said."Don't bother. Just take it off the check.""I can talk to my manager about that.""Your manager," Braden repeated, glancing at his friends. "You mean the old lady? Does she even run this place, or does she just stand around?"One of his friends, a stocky young man with a shaved head, laughed into his fist. "Come on, man, ease up," another one said, though he didn't sound like he meant it much."I'm not doing anything," Braden said, spreading his hands wide, all innocence. "I'm asking a question.""She owns this place," Joe said. "She's my grandmother."That seemed to delight him. "Oh, family business," he said. "That explains a lot.""Explains what?""Why the coffee tastes like it's forty years old," he said, and his friends laughed again, louder this time—loud enough that a family two tables over glanced up.Joe felt something tight and low in her stomach. Not anger, exactly; something closer to a held breath. She thought of her grandfather's voice:Anybody can throw a punch. It takes a real person to hold one back."I'll take the plate off the check," she said quietly, and walked away.Dotty had seen the whole thing from behind the counter. She came out, wiping her hands on her apron, and walked straight to their table. "Is there a problem here?" Dotty asked, her voice steady—the voice of a woman who had run this diner through two recessions and one bad flood.