Brennifer stepped out into the alley behind the gallery, and found Harold standing there beside his grandmother’s Ford, a large framed photograph under each arm, and one shattered to pieces at his feet.
“Everything okay?” Brennifer asked. “I heard screaming.”
“Yeah, it’s cool,” Harold replied. “I always scream when things are okay.”
She gestured with a nod of her head. “You need some help with that?”
“Nah,” Harold said, squeezing the two remaining frames into the Ford with the others. “This is the last of it. Sorry it took me so long to come back for all this.”
“It’s cool. I’m sorry nobody bought anything.”
“Yeah. But at least I got some work out of it.”
Brennifer puzzled this, then laughed. “Oh, yeah. That weird couple. How’d that work out?”
“Sophia’s not weird,” he laughed.
“Aw, shit,” she grimaced.
Harold blinked. “What?”
“You dumb bastard. How long have you been fucking her?”
Harold considered this, then doubled down. “What?”
When later asked by police to describe what happened next, Brennifer said, “The dude came up and knocked him the fuck out.” And this was more or less true. One moment, she and Harold are debating the ethics of marital infidelity in the alley behind an art gallery. The next, Harold’s kissing pavement while a very angry man stood over him.
“Wait,” the officer interjected. “You didn’t think to warn your friend–“
Brennifer shook her head, Nuh-uh. “Harold and I screwed a few times in the utility closet after hours. We weren’t friends.”
The officer looked at the pink-haired woman in front of him, wondered if she sold minerals or weed (Both, he decided. Definitely both.), then continued. “Right. So, you didn’t think to warn Harold that a ‘very angry man’ was about to start a fight with him?”
She shook her head again. “Not a fight–an ass-kicking. The guy threw one punch, then left.”
“Okay. But why didn’t you say anything to Harold?”
Brennifer considered this, then shrugged. “Maybe I thought he had it coming.”