Just go. I'm handling this. Janelle froze, her mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Oliver, his calm face, his quiet eyes, and something deep in her chest cracked. Slowly, she turned around and walked back inside.
Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles ached. Brenda watched her go, then turned back to Oliver. A smile crept across her face. Not a kind smile, the kind of smile that says, "I can do whatever I want, and nobody here will stop me. " Now, where were we?
She glanced down at the ground near the entrance. A mop bucket sat beside the door. Left behind by the detailer who had just finished mopping the showroom floor. The water inside was gray, filmy, swirling with soap scum, dirt, and floor grime. The sharp, sour smell of industrial cleaner rose from the surface, thick in the September heat.
Brenda looked at the bucket. Then she looked at Oliver. Her eyes moved between the two like she was making a decision. She made it. You know what?
You look like you need a bath. She grabbed the bucket with both hands, took one step forward, and swung it. The entire contents, a full gallon of dirty chemical soaked mop water, hit Oliver square in the chest. The impact was heavy, wet, loud. Gray water exploded across his hoodie.
It soaked through the fabric to his skin in an instant. It splashed up across his chin and lips. It streamed down his jeans in dark, filthy streaks. It filled his sneakers. The stench of bleach, floor grime, and something sour wrapped around him like a fog.
He didn't move, not one inch. For three full seconds, he just stood there, arms at his sides, water dripping from his fingertips onto the hot asphalt, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. The parking lot went completely silent. The white couple by the truck stared with their mouths open. A salesman inside the showroom pressed his face against the glass, eyes wide.
Janelle, standing by the water cooler, covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes filled with tears. Oliver opened his eyes. He looked down at his soaked clothes. Then he looked at Brenda. "Are you done?
" he said. "Quiet, steady, like a man asking about the weather. " Brenda dropped the empty bucket. It clanged against the asphalt and rolled in a slow half circle, leaving a trail of dirty water behind it. She put both hands on her hips and grinned.
"Yeah, I'm done now. Get off my lot. " Oliver nodded slowly. He reached into his wet hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone. Brenda flinched.
"What are you doing? Put that away. " "I'm sending a message, " he said. Calm, unbothered, he typed something short, 10 words, maybe fewer, then slid the phone back into his pocket. Brenda's eyes narrowed.
Then she grabbed the two-way radio clipped to her belt. Cal, I need you at the front entrance right now. We've got a situation. 30 seconds later, Cal Morrison appeared, the dealership security guard. White, mid30s, thick arms, built like a man who lived at the gym.