THE LAST CUSTOMER

🍾- Last Customer

A book can be judged correctly by the cover- if you're especially sharp. This is one of my many talents; one that comes in handy when I'm being an excellent cashier at Madam Whowha's.

The moment I spotted him, I scoffed. Despite his scrawny frame still hunched against the rain and cold outside, I could tell he was well over six feet. He wore a now rumpled dress shirt that must have been pressed, barely tucked into his trousers and on his feet, loafers that had seen better days. A leather bag was slung over his shoulder. Surely, this wasn't Madam Whowha's typical customer and even she was surprised.

Clean-shaven and well-spoken, broke and unemployed.

He placed a hand on his chest as he made a laughable attempt to flirt with Madam Whowha. What came out of the conversation was hearty laughter from my boss and he was sent my direction with a bottle of wine from the top shelves. I caught myself before I could burst out in laughter. Instead, I pursed my lips and tried to appear passive.

This will be interesting.

I couldn't help but wonder how evil Madam Whowha must be for this one. And I thought I was mean. However, it was awfully late: almost eleven o' clock and we would close soon. A little drama to laugh about on the way home would be good.

"Good choice," I said, scanning the bottle. "What are we celebrating?"

He was searching for something in his bag but stopped to give me a look of pure curiosity. "We?" He asked, his lips canting in a smile. "Will you marry me?"

What?

"No." I mentally flogged myself for slipping. Why had I used we? This fellow is a nutcase. "That would be eighteen thousand naira, sir." At this, I raised my head to meet his eyes. I studied his face like a student would a book, reading every emotion intently and savouring it. His eyes went here and there, his expression segueing from surprise to shock to disbelief to pain and then panic.

"Hang on a second," he said and began to search his bag again. Still searching, he asked, "How much again?"

"Eighteen thousand naira." I wagged my tongue in my mouth cause he couldn't see it. He'd been looking in his bag for so long, but it didn't sound like there was much in there. I bit down on my tongue, refraining from asking him if there was even anything in his bag.

There's no money in that bag.

Still standing where he had left her, Madam Whowha had her arms crossed and a sardonic look on her face.

Suddenly he stopped searching and turned to me with a sick smile, "Fine girl, borrow me eighteen thousand naira. I'll pay you back."

I must have not heard right. "You say what?"

"Ayy you know I'm a regular customer, and you're a fine girl. Borrow me eighteen thousand naaa," he drawled, still grinning. "How much do you have there?" He strained, trying to look into the change drawer containing all the money from the day's sales.

Time out, mister.

"Please, don't waste my time. We need to close."

"But I thought we were going to celebrate together?" He looked hurt but I was not interested in dragging this on any longer.

"Please leave."

"I can't have a bottle of wine because of eighteen thousand?"

Ridiculous. I was even more irritated because my boss just stood there, relishing the drama.

My hand came down on the counter firmly with a thud. "A broke fellow like you is broke for a reason. Of all the things to desire, of all the shops to walk into-- a wine shop? You're mental."

He reached to grab the bottle of wine, but I seized it in time. He began to chuckle and then it developed into a loud maniacal cry. "Because of Eighteen thousand!" At this point, he was panting and his eyes had turned red. "I've had enough! This country-- this life-- all of you, scam!"

He stepped back, raised his bag and emptied the only item in it onto the floor. Madam Whowha let out a scream when she saw the gun clatter to the floor. "Security!" She yelled.

I shook my head. Baba was probably drunk and nodding off somewhere. We would have to do it ourselves, not that Madam Whowha was any use now. The woman had dashed out of the shop and into the rain, screaming for help. Fear and anger swelled in my chest, and I saw red.

I'll show you craze.

As I saw him bend to pick the gun, I smashed the bottle of wine on the countertop. The liquid exploded and splashed everywhere. Shards and splinters flew around and settled in clinks and tinkles. Hurriedly, I pushed the change drawer closed and stepped out of the cubicle, holding the neck of the broken bottle as a weapon.

We die here.