“I can ride with you,” Radley said. “I’m car-free at the moment, and I promise I’m not a serial killer. I know a place where no one will bother us and the drinks are cheap. These places?” He gestured to a franchise Josh recognized from their late-night ads for two-pound burgers and bottomless barrels of fries. “I wouldn’t eat in one of these mall restaurants. First, I know we’d find a hair in our food. Second, it’s so noisy! How do people have conversations here?”

As if on cue, there was a crash, and they both looked over. A female server had just dropped a full tray—plates and glasses, liquid and food were everywhere. A giant burger sat right on a man’s groin, with french fries littering his pants.

“For fuck’s sake!” bellowed the male customer, who wore a T-shirt proclaiming his love of guns. He jolted out of his seat, towering over the waitress. The people around them fell silent.

The waitress put her hands over her face, and for a second, Josh thought the angry man might hit her.

“Hey!” Josh yelled. Redness flared at the edges of his vision. Never a good sign.

“Are you that stupid that you can’t even carry a tray?” the gun lover yelled at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Somehow, she looked familiar.

“Does that help me? No, you stupid—”

The red flared. “Leave her alone. It was an accident,” Josh called. At least ten people whipped out their phones, sensing trouble. The gun lover turned toward him, his face florid now that he couldn’t eat his heart-attack-on-a-plate.

“Food service and retail,” Radley murmured. “People treat us like we’re scum.”

“Is this your problem?” the irate customer asked, coming toward them.

Good. The red flared again. Bring it on, asshole. Josh hopped over the little fence that separated the food court tables from the rest of the mall. “I think it is,” he said.

“And here comes the mall’s violent crime of the day,” Radley said. Josh barely heard him.

“You mind your own business!” the asshole said. “You got something to say?”

Contradictory statements, Josh thought. “It was an accident. Cut her some slack.” His voice was guttural. Another sign of a red-out. Good.

“Why should I? She dumped food on me, the stupid slut.”

Josh’s fists tightened.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Radley said.

The man leaned in toward Radley, who didn’t flinch. “Watch your back, faggot. You see this shirt? You never know what I might be packing.”

Then the man reached behind his back (to grab a gun?) and the red tar surged in Josh’s vision. Then his fist hurt, and his arm was extended, and the bully staggered back, crashing into a table and then landing on the floor in the puddle of drinks the waitress had spilled.