Chapter 3
House sat on the playground bench, observing. He knew he probably appeared to be a pedophile, but this was worth it. He pretended to read a magazine to at least appear disinterested. He watched the kids and moms come and go, looking for a bully of either age.
Within the hour, he knew he'd found her. The loud-mouth mom was gabbing to various other mothers, offering plenty of unsolicited advice, while her kid ran amok on the playground, interfering with other kids' activities. He listened carefully and, sure enough, when her daughter came over hysterical about something, the mother marched over to another mother and began lecturing her on parenting skills.
After a bit longer, when she had alienated all the other mothers away, the mom sat alone on a bench, digging through a diaper bag. House got up and limped by, twirling his cane as he passed and hooking her purse to pull it to him nonchalantly.
"Hey!" the mother shouted. "Hey!"
House didn't look back, but just limped faster towards the park gates. The woman rushed up behind him and shoved him, shouting, "Give me my purse, you bastard!"
House turned at met her eyes, a menacing look on his face. "Careful, lady, you're assaulting a cripple here."
"You stole my purse!" she yelled, grabbing for it, but House held it out of reach and, once face-to-face, the woman's adrenaline wasn't enough to keep her aggressive in spite of her fear of who the hell this guy was.
"So I wanted it," House informed her. "No need to get violent. Didn't your mother teach you to use your words?" he asked.
The woman paused suddenly and studied him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"That's what I said," House commiserated. "Someone steals something that's yours and you're supposed to 'use your words' to get it back?"
"What are you getting at, asshole?" the woman asked, no longer afraid, but realizing she was being harassed.
House stepped toward her, dropping her purse at her feet and talking to her in a low voice. "I'm getting at the fact that you need to teach your kid to keep her hands off other kids' stuff, or she'll get what's coming to her. They're allowed to defend themselves," he said. "And, you need to quit lecturing other mothers about how to raise their kids, at least until you've raised one that isn't a tyrant," he added, nodding toward the woman's awful child who was watching from the playground. House leaned in a little further. "So go on home and tell all your friends about the nutjob on the playground today," he advised, "But know that if my baby mama tells me about you giving her a hard time again, this is the tip of a nutjob iceberg, lady. Trust me, I can provide a list of references."
He turned then and began walking towards the gate again.
"Who the hell is your kid anyway?" the woman yelled belligerently.
"I've had a pretty Casanova decade," House called back. "Assume they all are." He reached his motorcycle and got on to drive off, never looking back at the woman who stood gaping at his back.