Bloodsucking fiends: a love story

came in to open the store.
    "Break time!" Tommy announced.
    They sat on a row of grocery carts outside the store, their backs against the wall, smoking, eating, and, in the case of Simon, telling lies.
    "This is nothing," Simon said. "When I was working a store in Idaho, we ran a forklift through the dairy case. Two hundred gallons of milk on the floor. Sucked it up in the Shop-Vac and had it back in the cartons ten minutes before opening and no one knew the difference."
    Tommy was sitting next to Troy Lee, trying to get up the courage to ask a favor. For the first time since arriving in San Francisco, he felt as if he fit in somewhere and he didn't want to push his luck. Still, this was his crew now, even if he had padded his application a bit to get the job.
    Tommy decided to dive in. "Troy, no offense, but do you speak Chinese?"
    "Two dialects," Troy said around a mouthful of corn chips. "Why?"
    "Well, I'm living in Chinatown. I kinda share a place with these five Chinese guys. No offense."
    Troy clamped a hand over his mouth, as if appalled with Tommy's audacity. Then he jumped to his feet into a kung-fu stance, made a Bruce Lee chicken noise, and said, "Five Chinese guys living with you? A pasty-faced, round-eyed, barbarian pig dog?" Troy grinned and dug in the bag for another handful of chips. "No offense."
    Tommy's face heated with embarrassment. "Sorry. I just wondered if – I mean, I need an interpreter. There's some weird shit going on at my place."
    Troy vaulted back to his seat on the carts. "No problem, man. We'll go there in the morning when we get off – if we don't get fired."
    "We won't get fired," Tommy said with confidence he didn't feel. "The union -"
    "Jesus," Troy interrupted and grabbed Tommy's shoulder. "Check this out." He nodded toward Fort Mason at the edge of the parking lot. A woman was walking toward them. "She's out a little late," Troy said; then, to Simon, he shouted, "Sime, skirt alert."
    "Bullshit," Simon said, checking his watch. Then he looked in the direction where Troy was pointing. A woman was, indeed, walking across the parking lot toward them. From what he could tell at that distance, she had a nice shape.
    Simon climbed down from the carts and adjusted his black Stetson. "Stand back, boys, that redhead is down here for a reason, and I'm packing that reason right here." He patted his crotch and fell into an affected bow-legged gait toward the woman.
    "Evening, darlin', you lost or just in search of excellence?"
    Jeff, who was sitting beside Tommy opposite Troy, bent over and said, "Simon is the master. That guy gets more pussy than all of the Forty-Niners put together."
    Tommy said, "Doesn't look like he's doing that well tonight."
    They couldn't hear what Simon was saying to the woman, but it was obvious she didn't want to hear it. She tried to walk away from him, and Simon stepped in front of her. She moved in another direction and he cut her off, smiling and chattering the whole time.
    "Leave me alone!" the girl shouted.
    Tommy leaped off the carts and ran toward them. "Hey, Simon, lighten up."
    Simon turned and the woman started away. "We're just getting acquainted," Simon said.
    Tommy stopped and put his hand on Simon's shoulder. He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. "Look, man, we've got a lot to do. I can't afford to lose you all night while you show this babe the meaning of life. I need your help, dude."
    Simon looked at Tommy as if he'd just exposed himself. "Really?"
    "Please."
    Simon slapped Tommy on the back. "I'm on it." He turned back toward the store. "Break's over, dudes. We've got some wrenching to do."
    Tommy watched him go, then broke into a run after the woman. "Excuse me!"
    She turned and eyed him suspiciously, but waited for him to catch up to her. He slowed to a walk. As he approached her he was surprised at just how pretty she was. She looked a little like Maureen O'Hara in those old pirate movies. His writer's mind kicked in and he thought, This woman could break my heart. I could crash and burn on this woman. I could lose this woman, drink heavily, write profound poems, and die in the gutter of tuberculosis over this woman.
    This was not an unusual reaction for Tommy. He had it often, mostly with girls who worked the drive-through windows at fast-food places. He would drive off with the smell of fries in his car and the bitter taste of unrequited love on his tongue. It was usually good for at least one short story.
    He was a little