Main Ingredients:
former boss
union organizer
sirloin steak
sesame oil
office

Spice Pack:
1/8 dash of joviality
1/3 dollop of agitation

"Kohlrabi!"

I sprang to my feet. My nunchaku at the ready.

"I want Kohlrabi."

"Uh.... The Whole Foods... a couple blocks from here. Please don't hurt me." The man in the California Raisins shirt said, a dollop of agitation in his face.

RockeHearst's goons were soft. My former boss was the kind of man who relished conflict with anyone who got in his way. Even the hardest talking union organizer knew that he wasn't to be trifled with. Worth standing up to? Definitely. But his old goons knew how to crack skulls. Link Dinn had found out the hard way. The RockeHearst name was feared. Kohlrabi sounded like a something straight out of a bad TV show. His power was not what it used to be... Dying'll do that to a man.

"Whole Foods, huh? That yuppie market?" I scoffed, with a dash of joviality.

"Yah..." The woman nodded. Staring at my pants. "Get off. Next stop."

I had forgotten to snap the valve shut on my wine sack.... a large red stain had formed in the front of my jeans. I reached into the fannypack to snap it shut.

"If I don't find Kohlrabi, I'm coming back for you." The bus brakes squealed and we all swayed like reeds in the wind. The doors swung open. I hopped out.

The Whole Foods was right where they said it was. How easily they'd given him up.

I passed through the door, and headed straight for the office, which I'd assumed was at the back of the store. Within seconds, I noticed a "security guard" striding towards me. They'd tipped him off! I mistook their cunning for disloyalty. I'd not make that mistake again.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Yuppie rent-a-cop, I need clean up on aisle 10!"

Without blinking, I grabbed a bottle of sesame oil and swung it at the guard's head. He parried the blow, the bottle crashed to the floor. With his other hand, he swung his arm around my neck and took me into a headlock. As I was trying to break free, he thrust me up against the meat cooler. I clawed at something solid I could grab a hold of, push off of, anything for a breath of air. Grass fed sirloin steak, 10.99 a pound. My fingers sunk into soft beef. A panic before the darkness, I arched my back as hard as I could. He staggered back. And then we were on the ground!

The sesame oil!

He clutched at me to regain his hold. But his slippery hands slipped off my skin. I struggled to get my hands around his throat. And then I realized that he had been injured in the fall. He rolled back, holding his head. He was an obstacle, not the enemy. I pulled myself up. He still was holding his head.

A crowd had formed. Several people were pointing phones. I pushed my way past them.

By the time I got to the office, it was empty. I could see on the surveillance cameras the police had already arrived. I darted out the back door and ran. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs could no longer carry me.

I found a bus bench.

I leaned forward and squeezed the last drops of wine into my mouth.

RockeHearst was long gone.

My mom was in the Cayman Islands.

The police were after me.

I smelled like beef stir fry with red wine and shallots.

At least I had that going for me.