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Riveta's Round

She plopped her feet up on the desk, leaned back and took a puff from the cigarette. She had been trying to quit but like her father always said, "Only Quitter's Lose". She didn't mind the chaos about her, as officers walked back and forth, the phones constantly chiming in, and the clacking of an old typewriter in the corner.

That was George typing up a report. He was old school. She was going to ask him why he preferred that antique over the laptops but she guessed he was one of those 'can't teach an old dog new tricks' kind of guy.

"Yo, Riveta," said Lugerelli, "Put that shit out now."

"Make me," Riveta replied.

She hated that creep with a passion; she didn't know what it was about him but she hadn't liked him from day one. He had that look about him that made her want to bash in that face of his.

"You're given me second hand smoke," he scolded. "And besides, it's office policy not to smoke inside."

"You gonna arrest me?" she asked him.

"Christ, Riveta," Monnette said as he walked past her desk. "You know that's a $200 fine if the shop steward sees ya."

"I know, I know," Riveta replied to him. She butted it out; all she wanted was a taste. Besides, it helped her relax some.

Lugerelli threw some nico gum on her desk, "Chew on these."

"You wanna chew on my fist for a while?" she asked at him. Lugerelli was about to say something but he saw George in his corner shaking his head at him. Lugerelli then went back to his desk and answered a phone.

"What's your beef with him?" Monnette asked her. He plopped his rear on the corner of her desk.

"I don't know," Riveta confessed. "It's just that whenever I see him I have this urge to spit."

Monnette chuckled at that.