"I thought we were supposed to be heading to get your smoke flakes," Skippy nagged him. But she did as she was told, for once. It was good that she had. He wasn't particularly keen on fighting a woman just to fix a twisted ankle. It might come off wrong to a casual observer, and he didn't want to land in jail that quickly.
"Yeah, look, believe you me, I'm jonesing. But this clearly cannot wait." He finished cutting up the bottom of his shirt, stowed the strips in his coat, and tucked the ragged edge back in. He patted his pockets then glanced around them. He'd need something a bit sturdier than shirt cloth to tie onto her leg. "Shit," he muttered. There was nothing. He'd have to use his belt. "Great. Wonderful." He got to work on his buckle. Now he'd really look disheveled. And anyone watching would really think he was being a lech. "It's not what you think — " he began to explain, looking back up at her. He stopped mid-sentence and stifled a snort at the sight of her trying her very best to be modest. "Oh, so she is proper," he chuckled.
Finally, boot off and tossed aside, Skippy set her foot out for him to get to work. "Okay Doctor Red Coat, boot is off."
Fletcher scowled. "It's Fl — "
Without warning, a bum rolled over and began to rise to his feet. He hadn't noticed the old man. He should have seen him as they passed, but he'd been distracted. Now it all happened in a matter of seconds. Startled, the woman screamed and barreled into Fletcher, sending them both backwards into the opposite wall. He dropped his belt in surprise and turned his other wrist just in time for her to narrowly miss his brandished belt knife.
His heart began to beat off rhythm again. The vertigo rushed back. Fletch pried her off of him as best he could and stepped in front of her as the bum hobbled towards them. He didn't look particularly tough. Fletch thought he could take him. "Ohh, a free show!" the man cackled, craning his wrinkled neck to try to catch a glimpse of Skippy.
"Show's over, mate," Fletcher barked. He reached for something on his bandolier. His hand hit shirt. There was no bandolier. He looked down. What exactly had he been trying to grab? Something that would have ended this before it began, that was for certain. But all he had on him was the knife. "Right," he muttered to himself, and held the blade up. "Guess we're doing this the old-fashioned way." He straightened as tall as he could. "See this?" he addressed the old man. "This is the difference between a good day and a bad day. You walk away, you have a good day. That means you keep your insides, inside. You get any closer, well. Then it's goodnight for you, isn't it? Now I've had — " he began to laugh the kind of laugh of a man at his wits end. His left eye twitched. "I've had about enough of this day, myself, and I am just itching to pass that along to the first man who asks for it. So what'll it be? Hmm?"
