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When Jaylen murdered Workman Gloom, Esme had been furious. When Jaylen had shown up on their team, Esme had punched her. It hadn’t brought Workman back, but it had helped Esme.
Now Esme really really wanted to punch Tillman.
“I’m just SAYing,” said Tillman for the fiftieth time that week, “if we can take ‘em out for Sato, why not for me?”
“Because Sato is a cloud of smoke and has no choice about it,” said Blood. “You just want to vape.”
“You took ‘em out so he can relax, right?” Tillman put a hand on his chest. “I wanna relax too!”
“You can go outside.”
“Briggs kicked me back in.”
“There are more places outside than Briggs’ sloccer field.”
“Ugh, whatever.” Tillman slumped on the couch and pulled out his vaping pen.
“Not here either, dude,” said Blood.
“JEEZ!” said Tillman, and put it away. He got up and grabbed a soda can from the fridge. “Why isn’t there more Plepsi in here?”
“Um,” said Vel, “that’s my root beer.”
“Oh,” said Tillman, cracking it open. “Sorry.” He took a sip. Everyone stared at him as he flopped back down on the couch and pulled out his phone.
Esme got up and left the room very quickly.
“Why can’t I punch him?” asked Esme.
“Because he’s on our team,” said Cornelius.
“He blew the last heist because he said he could unlock a safe and all he did was spin the dial around.”
“I was there.”
“Fitz says he never shows up for pitching practice.”
“Also true.”
“He lost both games he pitched.”
“I recall.”
“Why can’t I punch him?”
“Will that improve his pitching ability?”
Esme did not answer.
“Will it improve his safe-cracking abilities?”
Esme did not answer.
“Will it make him a kinder, more considerate person?”
Esme did not answer.
Cornelius sighed. “Esme, I feel you, I really do. I know you miss Jaylen—“
“I do NOT.”
“—but Henderson is part of the team now. We have to figure out how to work with him, not against him.”
“HOW?”
“Hey, dudes?”
Esme and Cornelius turned to see Tillman in the door. He was holding a corndog dripping with ketchup.
“Yeah, I spilled the relish, so now we’re all out and someone should probably clean up the mess.”
A drop of ketchup splatted down on the floor.
Tillman took a bite of his corndog. “Peaf out!” he said, and turned and left.
Esme turned to Cornelius.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Cornelius—“
“However.” He held up one finger. “If you want to print out a picture of Tillman and put it on one of the punching bags, I would not say no.”
Esme snorted.
“That’s what you get, Ramsey, take it or leave it.”
“Fine.” Esme turned and stomped down to the gym.