Paper Planes

V

"A joker is a little fool who is different from everyone else. He's not a club, diamond, heart, or spade. He's not an eight or a nine, a king or a jack. He is an outsider. He is placed in the same pack as the other cards, but he doesn't belong there. Therefore, he can be removed without anybody missing him."
—Jostein Gaarder

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"Pizza, anyone?" Spalding offered, his crooked nose shoved into the single printed page of coupons as he irritably tapped his foot against the tile floor, his back lounging against the counter as Horton picked aimlessly away at the skin around his nails.

"Not hungry." The blonde boy grumbled.

"Well, I am. Pineapple on mine, please." Bleaker requested, a dull knife held loosely in his grasp as he inspected the rusted blade intently, turning it over several times in search of minimal rust.

"Where'd you find that garbage? Boss would have a heartattack if he saw such an abused knife." Horton snickered, his gaze flickering quickly between the blade between Bleaker's fingers and the dead skin upon his own.

"Left for dead out back. I think it has potential." Bleaker blandly replied.
"So whose gonna ask the sad whore and the boss if they want pizza too?"

"Fuck, Bleaker. Why do you call her that?" Horton scolded, slumping against the wall as he slid onto the floor, his aching muscles suddenly relaxing as he lounged.

"Isn't it obvious? The boss has to be fucking her. He kicked me out yesterday and closed the door. What else would he have done with her?"

"Talk to her? I dunno, just a thought." Spalding countered, his bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth as he retrieved his phone from his pocket.

"With the rack on that bitch, I highly doubt it. I'm almost certain he's getting his dick wet."

Horton visibly cringed, the visuals of someone pleasing the Joker that wasn't him made a sense of jealousy stir inside of him.

"Oh, stop it, Hort. He wouldn't want you sucking his dick anyways."

"Whose dick are we re-fer-ring to?" A sing-song voice asked.

Their blood suddenly ran cold.

"W-Would you like pizza, sir?" Bleaker stuttered, the blade tumbling from his fingers as it loudly collided with the tile.

Joker's gaze followed the knife closely, his painted eyebrows raising in suspicion as he ran a hand through his newly colored flourescent green hair.

"I'm more curious whose dick we're openly dis-cussing." He pressed, trudging towards a shaking Horton, who'd shot up rather quickly from his position on the floor, cowering now by the island counter as his boss slowly approached him.

"Your hair looks good, boss." Horton breathed, a slight tremble in his speech as he gripped firmly onto the counter. If Bleaker admitted the mans feelings towards the Joker, his throat would possibly be slit in an instant.

The Joker pat Horton roughly three times on the shoulder in response, kneeling over to claim the dropped knife at Bleaker's feet before straightening back up, his gaze glued to the rusted metal as his jaw hung lowly.