Eric The Arrow Eric is one slick customer. He slides among the packages with the grace of a man of long forgotten footballer fame. His long slim legs and hard stomach bristle and move as he stops in front of a box and slaps a packing slip on it with his long fingers, each with immaculately cut and pruned nails and small scars here and there from the times when he wasn't so graceful and needed to show his real nature to 'fix' an issue with another man. "E-R-I-C!" He spins and bows a little with an amused smile forming and disappearing on his lips. "Yes, my lady." The young women from Florida who just joined the small family run business gives him a pissed look. "Stop being a cock. Get up here!" Eric's shoulders tense slightly at her tone, but he is up next to her on the long gray railing that runs around the large warehouse where the parcels and packages from all over America are distributed to vans to be moved to the residents of the small city where this story of wicked betrayal is happening. "What can I do for you?" he asks her, pulling out a small touch pad and knocking in numbers as he waits. "What can you do for me?" she asks snarkily. "How about working the next fucking 12 hours straight for me? You think you are up to that, you tall fuck?" Eric tenses and his left eye curves around the deep exotic brown of his iris in what could be a very good imitation of a tiger's eyes just before the beast surges forward and tears its prey to pieces. "I'm glad you noticed my height. So was that all?" He turns his back to her and starts slithering away. "Where do you think you are going?" "To work. I thought that was what you are paying me to do?" "Listen, punk. I came here straight from Miami and I know what you clowns are like. You are probably going to smoke some FUCKING WEED and then piss around for a few hours." Sally starts pacing, her short slim legs moving with heavy clods on the intertwined framework of the metal grating that they are standing on. "I know all about your kind, Eric. Lazy-stupid-can't work for themselves-idiots one and all. Do you think I don't know?" Eric raises an eyebrow. He wonders if she really does know. If she did then she - a mere female - might consider her position a little more carefully. You don't insult the wolf and expect him not to bite. That's a fool’s gamble. He thinks she is probably a fool, so it is in character. "What do you know, boss? Educate me." She stops seeing something in those brown eyes of his: It's a challenge. He thinks he's so tough with that big body of his. Sally has seen men, tall, handsome, strong, but flawed like him. He doesn't think she knows how to handle a tall piece of shit like him. Well, this one has a thing coming. He hasn't seen anything yet. "Are you sassing me?" she shouts at him. He looks her over. Just who is sassing who here? She strides forward and pokes her finger into his strong chest. The poke is good, but the finger bends against the flesh. Eric doesn't even wince. "You have been stealing packages." That comes as a surprise. If there is something that Eric isn't doing it is stealing the worthless junk that America seems to be obsessed with sending each other. "Someone is telling you lies, boss. Perhaps you should reconsult your sources." "Don't avoid me, fucker. Jenny told me all about you." "Really?" he asks sounding slightly surprise. Sally stops and watches the guy. Why is he smiling that half-cocked smile in this situation? She has him red-handed. "Yes. Now come to the office and I'll have you out of here." Eric doesn't move. "Do you have proof?" "Well..." "Exactly. Go get proof, little manager. Come back to me when you can pin something that sticks." He walks away. Sally tenses her fists. That woman didn't give her any proof; she didn't think she would need it. "I'll get you, Eric Chompton. You just wait!" He doesn't look back. The wolf is stalking. A young red head is going to pay and pay good.