Free The Sapphire Express by J. Max Cromwell Page B

at the young mother and her beautiful daughter, and I felt really sorry for them. It was as if the dove of peace was sitting at a table with three ugly vultures, blood dripping from their nasty boors’ beaks. The child was sitting quietly on her lap and just looking around innocently. She didn’t understand why world-class nastiness had arrived from the valley of fools and stolen the show.
    Then, suddenly, the brunette got up and gave me her phone. I took it because I was too surprised to do anything else, and she said, “Look, this is my son at his boarding school in upstate New York. He is so handsome, a real heartbreaker.”
    I didn’t say anything, but I looked at the picture that depicted a regular-looking young man in a tuxedo.
    Then she moved over to the young mother and showed the same picture to her. The mother looked at the photo and said politely, “That is a very nice picture.”
    Then the brunette parked her ass on the chair next to her and said, “We are flying to Grand Cayman tomorrow. We go there every month. It’s a great place to party, and the mudslides are to die for! You should go sometimes. Do you travel?”
    Before the young mother had a chance to answer her question, she continued, “I used to go to Florence with my idiot ex-husband, but I like Spain better now because the men are waaay hotter there. They are so fucking hot, oh my God.”
    That was it. My turn.
    I leaned toward the young mother and said, “I think it’s time to put the earmuffs on now.”
    She understood immediately what I meant and covered her daughter’s ears with her hands. Then I looked at each member of the revolting trio individually and said, “Excuse me. All of you—excuse me!” They all turned and looked at me with their surprised, drunken faces, and I continued in a stern voice, “You know what, you goddamn rotten pieces of human excrement? No one here is interested in hearing if you are going to the Grand Cayman tomorrow, OK? Nobody cares if you go to the goddamn moon or meet the pope himself, capisce? I mean, look at you people. You are truly repulsive, self-absorbed pigs who should just stay in their gilded sties. You come here with your poisoned livers, your red wine, your disgusting clothes, and your fake bodies, and you complain about everything. You talk about your cheating shithead husbands who can’t keep their entitled cocks in their pants, and you force us to listen to your stories about your useless lives. You come here thinking that money makes you special and that you can do whatever the hell you want because you have some cash to burn. Are you really that stupid? I mean, look at that young mother with her perfect child over there. Look at her! She is pure, she is kind, and she has wonderful manners. She is a beautiful angel from the heavens, and you are polluted demons from the deepest spider holes of hell. She doesn’t deserve to share a table with your kind. The fun is over. Take your Botox-filled foreheads and your filthy mouths and get out of here before I unleash my fury on you and make you pay dearly for your rudeness.”
    The troika looked floored, and they clearly didn’t know how to react to something so unexpected and unembellished. They seemed a little scared, too, and I just stared at them, still fuming inside. Then the semimuscular guy dug up some hidden courage from his off-brand heart and asked, “What the fuck did you just say, asshole? What the fuck did you just say to my mother?”
    I looked at him calmly and said, “I told you the truth that none of your brownnosing friends will ever tell you.”
    The guy got up and said, “Let’s go. You and me, outside, now! I will kick your teeth in. Nobody talks to my mother like that.”
    I got up, went nose-to-nose with the wannabe and said in a voice that augured true and guaranteed danger, “Son, you have a choice to make right now. You can go outside with me, or you can leave with your mother and her friend. If you unwisely