Nobody ever tried to stab me when I did corporate work.
“Hey! All I did was suggest that your neighbor have his property surveyed.” I shoved my desk chair between me and a hundred and ten pounds of angry senior citizen. “I never told him to bulldoze your lawn shed if it crossed over the property line. You need to calm down, Mr. Ellison, or I’m going to have my assistant call the police.”
I eyed the distance between my desk and the door. Surely I could outrun this guy, even in my heels. He had to be ninety years old.
“Don’t even think about it, girlie. I’ve got pepper spray, and I ain’t afraid to use it. Those self-defense classes down at the senior’s center were good for something.” The little white-haired troll brandished a menacing-looking can in the air with one hand, while still pointing the knife at me with the other. If I hadn’t been in imminent danger of being filleted, I would have laughed.
My name is December Vaughn, and I’m a lawyer. That means that I’m usually the most annoying person in any room, even when I don’t have PMS. Not this morning, though.
I tried reason. “Look, you have a claim against him for the shed. He has to pay to replace it, OK? The shed and any tools he may have destroyed. Now, put that knife down before somebody gets hurt.”
Ellison lowered the knife, but it was still pointing at me. This was not how I generally liked to start my Mondays, being chased by somebody’s rabid, weapon-toting great-grandfather. Especially not before coffee.