“He started it.”
He shakes his jowly head.
“We’ve had this discussion. You’re a shit magnet. You attract trouble.”
“And I made it go away.”
He sweeps his metal hand around, gesturing to the empty shop.
“Look, dumbass. You scared all our customers away. You’re a walking calamity.”
My heart is still pounding from the scene on the street. It shouldn’t be doing this. I was in much worse situations in the arena and didn’t break a sweat. But that guy got to me—and I wanted to hurt him. Bad. There’s still more rage stuck in me than I wanted to admit earlier. I should talk to Allegra. Maybe try some different pills. Or maybe forget them altogether. What fucking good are they if all they do is jack up my heart rate and make me not want to hurt bullies?
I set the movies I brought with me on the counter, a little embarrassed that Kasabian might be right about my scaring everyone out of the place.
I say, “Let me pick up some new stuff and I’ll get out of your way.”
“Thank you. We got some new special titles in.”
Max Overdrive is known in the underground-movie-fiend community for its “special titles.” A nice little witch friend of Candy’s has contacts in other dimensional realms where movies that don’t exist in this world are common. It’s the only reason the place is still in business.
I look past Kasabian at the racks behind him.
“What did you get?”
“Kubrick’s Napoleon.”
I shake my head.
“Too big. Too serious. I want something for the party tomorrow night.”
“I heard about that,” he says.
“You’re invited, you know.”
He shakes his head slowly.
“I’ll pass. I don’t want to watch you beat up the hors d’oeuvres.”
“What else did you get in?”
“Vincent Ward
’s Alien 3.”
“The one on the satellite with the monks who have to fight the xenomorph with wood?”
“The very one.”
“Cool. I’ll take that for me. But I still need something, you know, company friendly. Con Air or Face/Off.”
Kasabian’s eyes narrow at me.
“Face/Off is strictly for film nerds who want to scream at its awfulness.”
I think it over.
“Maybe that’s not the right mood.”