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Part 6-18: Spermless
An article makes the rounds on all the local news sites. This is what it says:
Brave Bisque Shop Owner Shows Burglar Who’s Boss
By: Ethan Clarence
It was just like any other day inside Bisque by Bisk, the new soup shop just south of 10th Street and George. That was, until a rather rude customer demanded more than the lobster bisque special. The assailant, identified by police as a repeat offender operating as part of a local crime ring, entered the restaurant at approximately 3:30pm last Thursday. He was armed with a shotgun and demanded cash. The store’s owner and sole employee Alena Bisk was forced to make a split second decision.
The moment the man took his eye off her, she served up something off-menu: hand delivered hot soup, fresh from the stove. According to eyewitnesses, Ms. Bisk hurled the pot of boiling food onto the would-be burglar, which immediately disarmed him.
“It was like she channeled a scalding geyser from angry Neptune, except also with vegetables and some oregano,” was one witness’ remark.
“Very noisy,” said another patron.
Ms. Bisk declined to comment, but did state that she is doing fine and the business will remain open during regular hours.
Police were quick to the scene and apprehended the wounded man, who has likely suffered third degree burns. He was transported to Liberty General for treatment, and will be released to the county sheriff’s office thereafter.
For those interested, the deadly “Neptunian” soup was the carrot medley, now also on special at Bisque by Bisk. To join the conversation online, comment below or use the hashtag #badassbisque!
I have scrolled through it a million times, always avoiding touching the link to #badassbisque for fear of extreme embarrassment.
Business of course, has never been better. Neptunian Carrot Medley is selling quite well. My bankruptcy runway has been extended by a full two months thanks to the sales surge, and I can now officially dub Deluxe my second bonafide regular.
She and her ever-present pets have been by almost every day following the incident, never buying soup and rarely talking. She just sits in the corner for maybe an hour during peak, watches people, and scribbles in a little notepad. I occasionally say hi and she smiles or nods and goes back to writing, or doodling, or whatever.
It isn’t until a full week goes by that I have a chance to actually find a moment to talk. It is near close, there are no customers and she is packing up to leave, so I come around the counter and sit at her table.
She puts her pad into a pocket and regards me, silent. A snake’s head pops out of her blouse’s collar and flickers its tongue.
“Hey so,” I begin.
“So, hey,” she says, and gives the snake a little scratch under its chin. I swear it smiles.
“Hey so,” I repeat, ever the conversational artiste. “So, I never got to say thank you.”
Her hand falls onto the table with a slap and she pins me with wide eyes. “For what?”
“For—wait really?” I can’t tell if she is genuinely asking or simply being weird. My hesitation hangs in the air, so I hurriedly conclude that it is both. I continue, “For stepping up. When, you know, that man came in and tried to rob me… us. You just sort of, had at him, and it distracted him, and then…”
The memory of it is still disturbing, and I lose myself in it for a second. Those howls were not something that should happen in a soup shop.
Deluxe laughs and swats at my hands, which I discover are balled up in fists on the table. “You’re welcome I suppose! Stepping up is a funny way to say it. He didn’t want my sea urchins.”
“You weren’t scared?”
“He wasn’t gonna shoot.”
“How could you know that?”
“Safety engaged plus he had his finger behind the trigger guard. Going for intimidation. Gang initiation possibly, but not a guy ready for it. Not a guy ready to kill. Clearly amateur and scared, operating inefficiently, as you may remember. Walked past like three times, psyching himself up. Cracked that Ruger open afterwards and wouldn’t you know it! Spermless.”
I goggle. “Spermless?”
She folds her arms and arches an eyebrow.
Oh.
“Blanks?” I cry, and proceed to dissolve into a fit of giggles.
“Though had he fired them, they probably still could have killed you,” she says.
“Oh, wonderful,” I say, still chuckling. A darker thought enters my mind. “So I permanently disfigured some poor dude who wasn’t even legit trying to waste me?”
“Don’t tell me you feel bad for him?”
The howling echoes. “A little?”
She rolls her eyes. “Still might have killed us. Two weeks later could have improved his resolve and killed someone else.”
It is a valid point. Something scratches at my brain. “How do you know so much about guns? And robbery techniques?” I ask.
“I used to be a bank robber.”
“How many banks did you rob?”
She gasps. “That’s personal!”
I sigh, then the door opens. Caught off guard, it makes me jump a little, but it is only Gary. Trying not to sound relieved, I say, “The usual?”
“Yeah,” he says, and shuffles to his regular seat.
Deluxe grabs my wrist as I make to get up. “Let me try,” she says.
“Try? Try what?”
“Souping. Seen you do it a ton of times. Can’t be that hard.”
“You want to… ladle soup?”
“Can I?”
“…Okay.”
She bounces up and over to the counter, and I remember the health inspector’s sticker on my window.
“Hey Deluxe!”
A pirouette, then, “Yeah?”
“Uh, Lobster can’t be back there.”
“Oh right.” She reaches down her shirt, struggling for a second, and produces a gold and white creature. It is almost two feet long. She comes over and puts the snake in my lap then races back over to the soup.
“Nyeh-ah,” I think I say.
“It smells even better back here! A dancing cloud of all little bits from all little creatures, inside my nose and then my brain. Kinda freaky, kinda neat.”
“Ah, neeeh,” I reply, watching Lobster the Snake scout out its new denim territory. It flicks its tongue in the general direction of my crotch.
“Gary sir, lobster bisque?”
“Please,” he says.
“Gak,” I add, as Lobster artfully threads itself through one of my belt loops.
“Is the customer always right, Gary?” Deluxe says.
“Nope,” he replies.
She nods, lips pursed, and dips a ladle into the pink-orange vat of bisque. She lifts and lets a stream of it fall back into the pot as I sit stock still, enduring the sensation of smooth slithering up my side.
“Not really their fault they’re so tasty, but it doesn’t help,” she says as she fills a bowl.
“All in the cream!” I shrill, having lost sight (but not the feel) of my new friend.
Deluxe delivers the soup and collects payment from Gary, then pops open the till. “See this would be a much more efficient way to rob you, you know,” she says, smirking. “You seem tense.”
“Have you trained this thing to like going down shirts?” Her companion has gone up my back, over one shoulder, and feels like it is prospecting around my collar.
“She’s friendly and you’re warm.”
“She’s going to get to second base any moment now and I have not consented.”
“Oh fine.” Deluxe returns and gently threads her pet off of me. I can’t help but let out a noisy breath and scowl at Gary, who is doing a bad job at suppressing a grin.
“Well, your facilities are tip top back there,” Deluxe says, standing over the table and jabbing a thumb back at the counter. “Quaint, but workable. Very organized, functional, new.”
“Thank you, I guess?”
“I’d like to buy it.”
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