AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl wasn't really bothered by drunks. In truth, he'd probably spent more of his life in the presence of drunks—even if they were sober and simply waiting for their next their drink—than he'd spent with truly sober people. Drunks themselves, just by being drunks, didn't bother Daryl at all.
What bothered him were the drunks who didn't know how to handle the drink that they consumed.
Drunk at home or in a bar was one thing. Drunk and showing your ass in aisle four of the A and P was another thing entirely.
Daryl was trying to ignore the disturbance that was slowly but surely drawing a crowd. He was only there to pick up a few items. His list, in fact, was so short that he hadn't even bothered to write it down. He could remember the whole thing by heart. They only needed the basics for a small "cookout" that would take place at his house that evening. It was something that Sophia would enjoy and it was a nice way to get Merle and Andrea around Carol in a relaxed situation. If they were talking about being a family, then Carol might as well get to know—really get to know—the rest of the people that Daryl called family.
Daryl only needed a few things and, with any luck at all, he could avoid the drunk entirely.
He might have, too, if he hadn't heard a little of the ruckus floating around in the air and realized that the drunk wasn't just yelling to himself or knocking down things for the poor grocery employees to clean up—he was actually harassing shoppers. And one of the shoppers that he was harassing was clearly a woman.
Daryl took his basket and crept to the end of the aisle where the noise originated. There was a small crowd gathering there and Daryl waded into the people. They were standing back—people gathered at either end of the aisle—almost watching the scene like it was a boxing match or a sporting event. In the middle of the aisle, the drunk had cornered a woman who, more than likely, had only wanted a jar of peanut butter. She was certainly not there for the verbal lashing that she was receiving, and the more that he yelled, the more it worried Daryl that the man would physically lash out at the woman.
Especially once he recognized the man.
Daryl put his basket down on the floor and broke through the crowd of people. The only one who cared enough—or the only one with enough balls to do anything—he approached the woman from behind. She yelped when his hand touched her shoulder, but she quickly accepted his promise that he wasn't going to hurt her. He wasn't there for that. He pushed her behind him, making himself a physical wall between her and Ed Peletier so that she could escape the trap she'd somehow stumbled into.
As far as Daryl knew, Ed Peletier didn't know what Daryl looked like. They'd spoken on the phone, but Daryl had the common voice of any other shit-for-brains redneck in the state of Georgia. There was nothing about him that made him special or even noteworthy. To Ed Peletier, he was just another meddling asshole that was stopping his drunken harassment at the A and P—something he was probably sure the first amendment allowed him as a right.
But Daryl knew Ed Peletier.
"Hey man," Daryl offered, "take it easy." He held his hands up in mock surrender in Ed's direction to let the man know that he wasn't there to create trouble. He didn't want trouble. He only hoped that one of the assholes that was gawking at the scene had the sense to call security or, since they didn't seem to be doing anything particularly useful, to call the cops. "Why don't'cha just—get what you come here for and head on home? Ain't nobody here gonna slow you down. Just—get what'cha come here for and get outta here. This is a grocery store. Ain't the kinda place no damn body wants to just hang around. And—chances are they done called the cops. Get on outta here 'fore they come askin' questions and throwin' around shit like drunk and disorderly."
Ed Peletier was about as wasted as a body could get and remain upright. The good news, from where Daryl was standing, was that the man was clearly seeing double and couldn't throw a straight punch if he wanted to—which he might want to do before the cops got there, now that Daryl had sent out the hint to everyone around him to make the call. The bad news was that he was at the point of drunkenness where it would be impossible for Daryl to hurt him, and consequently stop him, if it were to come to blows.
Daryl would rather get out of the A and P with just his hot dogs and buns. He'd be more than happy to forego leaving with a black eye or busted knuckles.
Daryl could fight—it was something he'd been doing since he could stay on his own two feet—but he preferred not to.
"She's a fuckin' bitch!" Ed spat. "Fuckin' cunt!"
Daryl glanced over his shoulder in the direction that he'd sent the woman that Ed had cornered between the peanut butter and the pancake syrup. Wherever she'd gone, she'd melted into the crowd. The woman that Ed was gesturing toward, as he pointed somewhere over Daryl's shoulder, was only visible to Ed.
"Ain't nobody back there, man," Daryl offered, looking back at Ed and biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the smile that Ed might not appreciate in his current state. "You don't even know her. She was just here buyin' some food. Same as everybody else. She weren't fuckin' with you. Ain't nobody here fuckin' with you. Just—what'cha here to get? Let's just get'cha what the hell you're here for an' you can get on outta here. No harm, no foul."
Ed's chest rose and fell rapidly as he processed his anger. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped a little. His breathing calmed. Some wave of calm washed over him.
Daryl had seen it a thousand times before. This wasn't his first time talking a drunk down off a ledge. It was the moment when your tone of voice, even more than the words you were saying, was starting to win them over. You were starting to touch whatever little bit of reason they still had left. They liked the sound of something you were saying.
From here, it could go two ways. Either Daryl could get Ed to go along with what he was saying—take his things and get the hell out of the A and P and hopefully into the back of a police car—without causing any trouble, or Ed could get a second wind and suddenly become a whole lot more than any of them were prepared to deal with.
Either way, there wasn't any going back.
Daryl licked his lips.
"What'cha come here for? What was you tryin' to get?" Daryl asked. Ed's hands were empty. He'd come there for something, though. Every drunk that had ever taken themselves down to the A and P had come for something—more beer, pack of smokes, box of macaroni and cheese, something.
"Don't matter who she is," Ed said. "Still a fuckin' bitch. Fuckin' cunt. Every damn cunt's a fuckin' cunt."
Daryl bit the inside of his cheek again. Few drunks were poets, but Ed Peletier was even less so. Still, with nobody rushing to his side to help him, Daryl didn't want to start anything. There were far too many witnesses and he had far too much to lose at this point.
"You're a fuckin' cunt!" Ed yelled suddenly, turning around to find a random woman among those watching the whole scene. She looked like she might say something and Daryl held his hand up to signal to her that it was probably best to swallow this harmless insult. After all, Daryl knew—even if this woman didn't—that Ed Peletier had no scruples when it came to hitting women. He'd punch her just as soon as he'd punch Daryl. Truth be told, he might punch her first. He could very well be too chicken shit to punch Daryl. "You're a fuckin' cunt," Ed said again, anger soaking his words, as he pointed to another woman in the crowd.
"You prob'ly right man," Daryl said. "Prob'ly right. They prob'ly all fuckin' cunts. Bitches. Who the hell knows? I don't know none of them. You don't neither."
Ed seemed to be hit by another quick wave of calm.
"You don't know shit," Ed said, turning his attention back to Daryl like they'd suddenly become old friends. "Had me a wife. Fuckin' cunt weren't good for nothin'."
Daryl swallowed against the feeling that woke up inside of him suddenly. He choked it down because there wasn't room for it in the aisle. He choked it down because there were too many witnesses. He had a lot to lose.
"Got a damn restrainin' order against me," Ed said. "Against me! Bitch wouldn'ta lived it weren't for me! Wouldn'ta never had shit! I give her all she ever fuckin' had an' the lazy ass bitch just wanted more! Paid me back for what the hell I done by takin' a restrainin' order out against me! Fuckin' cunt!"
Daryl considered his words carefully. In the time he was considering them, he heard the howl of a siren outside. Someone, finally, had called the cops. All he had to do was keep Ed Peletier there—in the aisle—for as long as it took for Georgia's Finest to get in there. All he had to do was keep the man talking to him and not throwing any punches at anyone until they got there. Then he'd be their problem. Daryl could take his food and go home. Carol was baking a cake. A yellow one with chocolate icing because Daryl had told her it was his favorite. They'd grill out. He'd have a couple of beers with his family and Ed Peletier would sober up in jail, alone, overnight.
He wasn't going to let Ed Peletier be a problem for him when he didn't have to be. Daryl believed in karma. One way or another, the man would get what was coming to him. But it wasn't going to be Daryl who doled it out to him in aisle four of the A and P just in time to earn himself a trip to jail as well.
"Mighta been, man," Daryl offered. "She mighta been all that. Sometimes women are bitches. But sometimes—men are fuckin' assholes too. I'm an asshole. Know you been at times too. But that shit? It don't matter no more, right? Move on. It don't matter right now. Right here. All that matters right now? Is soberin' up some. Movin' on. Stayin' the hell away from women 'cause—well, it's like you said. They all cunts, right? All bitches. Stay the hell away from all of 'em."
Daryl's talking did exactly what he wanted it to do. Trying to listen to him—to find out if he was really a "friend" who agreed with him—Ed had temporarily gotten hypnotized by Daryl's words. He'd gotten sucked in since concentration wasn't easy for him at the moment, to the point that he didn't notice the police officers moving in on him until they were already there.
One officer, the kind with a clear chip on his shoulder, had Ed slammed up against the shelves and handcuffed him before Ed could even realize what was happening to him and start to fight back. The other, who was clearly the one who played the role of good cop in the duo, approached Daryl.
"Officer Rick Grimes," the man said. "Are you with this man?"
Daryl shook his head.
"Just trying to stop a scene 'fore it got started good," Daryl said.
Officer Rick Grimes laughed to himself.
"That's a dangerous job," Rick said. "It's best to leave these kinds of situations to the police."
"Would have," Daryl said. "But y'all took so long gettin' here he mighta killed three people while we were waiting."
Officer Rick Grimes raised his eyebrows at Daryl.
"You consider yourself some kind of plainclothes crime fighter?" Rick asked.
Daryl shook his head.
"Just a concerned citizen shopping for hotdog buns," Daryl offered, swallowing back his urge to laugh at his own smartass response.
"I'm going to need to talk to you," Rick said. "About the incident."
Daryl nodded his head.
"I know you are," Daryl said. "Just let me get my basket out the middle of the floor. I got the last of the all-beef hotdogs and I don't want nobody layin' claim to 'em."