"Hey, you! You haven't paid for your meal yet!"
A handsome brunette waiter called out, his voice rising from behind the counter as he addressed the customer heading for the exit.
"Ha, I did," the man replied awkwardly, scratching the back of his head with a nervous smile.
"Can I see your receipt?" The waiter's request caught the man off guard, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.
"Oh right, the receipt," the man laughed nervously, his hand diving into his pocket as if searching for it, but his eyes darting away betrayed his feigned curiosity.
"Seems I must have dropped it somewhere….." The man's voice trailed off, his expression a mix of awkwardness and hopeful evasion, as he attempted to deflect responsibility.
The waiter's eyes narrowed, his brow arching upward in doubt; "you didn't pay for the food did you?" he asked, his tone firm but controlled, with a hint of accusation.
The man's evasive behavior only heightened the waiter's suspicions. He scrutinized the man's face, struck by a sense of déjà vu.
The man's features seemed eerily familiar, yet the waiter couldn't quite place where he had seen him before, the memory lingering just out of reach.
The waiter's eyes widened as the memory finally surfaced.
His brows knit together in anger, he snarled, "Ah, I remember you, you son of a bitch! You're the one who dined and dashed last week, leaving me with a six-hundred-dollar tab! I vowed to make you pay if I ever caught you again, and now you're going to regret ever crossing me!"
The waiter's eyes blazed with anger as he realized the man's intentions.
With lightning-fast reflexes, he vaulted over the counter and grasped the man's shirt collar, his fingers closing like a vice.
"Don't play dumb with me!" he growled, his voice low and menacing.
"I know it's you, and you're not slipping away from me again!"
The man's eyes widened in fear as he stuttered, "I-I don't know what you're talking about. You must have mistaken me for somebody else, I swear!"
Cold sweat trickled down the man's forehead, and he nervously wiped it away with a shaky hand.
"Do you take me for a fool?" The waiter's voice rose in anger, his eyes flashing with indignation as he clenched his right hand into a fist.
A punch landed squarely on the man's cheek, his face pale and eyes wide with shock.
He knew he couldn't talk his way out of this one - his usual trick of dining and dashing had finally caught up with him.
He had always been so careful, so calculated, but this time he had underestimated the waiter's determination. His mind raced as he realized he had finally met his match.
"You made me pay for your stupid act!" The waiter's anger seethed, his resentment fueled by the injustice he had suffered.
It wasn't just that the man had dined and dashed - it was that the manager had unfairly punished him, making him cover the cost of the meal himself.
The waiter had vowed to make the man pay if he ever had the chance, and now that chance had finally arrived.
He barely scraped by on his meager wages, earning only twelve dollars an hour for his grueling five-hour shifts.
And to make matters worse, he had been diligently saving up for his mother's mounting hospital bills, which had already drained his finances.
The six hundred dollars he had to pay out of pocket was a devastating blow, a significant chunk of his hard-earned savings that he could not afford to lose.
Before the man knew it, the waiter's fists were flying, landing several punches that left him reeling.
He tried to defend himself, but the waiter's anger and adrenaline gave him the upper hand. The man could only raise his arms to block a few blows, his eyes wide with fear.
The surrounding crowd of customers and servers watched in a mix of horror and fascination, some recording the fight on their phones while others stood frozen, unsure of how to intervene.
"Someone call security!" a voice shouted, but no one moved to stop the brawl
"He deserves it!" someone shouted.
"Imagine eating a 600 dollar meal and not paying!" another customer chimed in.
"He does things like this and can't even fight back? Pfft!" another person jeered.
"Beat his ass!" a voice urged.
Amidst the chaos, a waitress rushed behind the waiter, pleading with him to stop.
"David, please! This isn't going to end well. You could get arrested!" she warned, trying to grab his arm and separate them.
He replied without even looking back at her, "stay out of this, it's none of your business, Betty!"
The man reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out a switchblade, its blade glinting in the light.
With a calculated move, he aimed the weapon at David's exposed stomach, taking advantage of his momentary distraction.
David's eyes widened as he noticed the blade, and he tried to block it, but the man was too quick.
The switchblade sank into David's upper arm, and he winced in pain.
"Bringing a knife into a fist fight, huh? It isn't fair," David gritted out, his voice laced with anger and shock.
David groaned in pain and anger, using his good arm to knock the knife out of the man's hand.
He then unleashed a flurry of merciless punches, striking the man's face repeatedly until he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
The crowd watched in stunned silence, their cheers and chants of 'Beat his ass!' and 'Teach him a lesson!' suddenly turning into gasps and whispers.
"Oh my god, did he just...?" "He's going to kill him!" "Stop him, someone!"
"What the hell is going on here? What is the meaning of this nonsense?" a booming voice thundered from behind the crowd.
Everyone turned to see the speaker, a portly man with a manager's tag on his shirt, his face red with indignation and concern.
The waiter, David, continued to rain down punches on the man, who was now almost unconscious and utterly defenseless.
His body merely jerked in response to each blow, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
"David! Stop this madness!" the fat man, the manager, bellowed, his voice echoing through the restaurant.
But David seemed beyond reason, his fury and adrenaline fueling his relentless assault.
He showed no signs of stopping, his fists pummeling the man's face and body with a vicious intensity that sent shockwaves through the horrified crowd.
"Da…" The manager's voice was cut short as David suddenly stood up, his chest heaving with rage, and spat on the battered body lying at his feet.
"Disgusting piece of shit!" David snarled, his eyes blazing with contempt.
The man's face was a gruesome sight, with a broken nose, bloody nosebleed, and multiple bruises, his features swollen beyond recognition.
"Oh my god…" someone whispered, her voice trembling in horror.
"What have you done?" the manager asked, his voice laced with disgust and shock.
The crowd gasped in collective horror, their voices hushed by the sheer brutality of the scene before them.
"Call the police!" someone else shouted, breaking the stunned silence.
"What the hell happened here?" the fat man demanded, his authoritative voice piercing the silence.
The crowd remained mute, their eyes fixed on the gruesome scene.
"David, what is the meaning of this madness?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. David's expression remained cold, unfazed.
"I just taught this piece of trash a lesson he won't soon forget," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, as he cracked his neck with a chilling nonchalance.
A faint whisper came from the crowd, "I think he's dead…" David's gaze flickered, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he merely shrugged.
"He won't die from this," he said, his tone dripping with indifference.
The fat man's face reddened with annoyance as David ignored him, and he turned to the waitress beside him, his voice rising in indignation.
"Susan, I demand an explanation for this! What is the meaning of this...this...savagery?" Susan hesitated, her eyes darting nervously between the manager and David.
"Well, sir, this man...he didn't pay for his meal. And David, here, recognized him from last week's incident, where he dined and dashed."
The manager's expression turned incredulous. "And that justified this...this...beating?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
The fat man shook his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and disgust.
"Even though the man was clearly in the wrong, you could have handled this like a civilized person, David. You could have called the police, reported him to me, or simply resolved this peacefully. But no, you had to go and make a mess like this," he chastised, his voice firm but controlled.
He turned to the crowd and raised his voice, "Someone call an ambulance, now! And get this...this...mess cleaned up!"
The manager's words were laced with disdain, his gaze fixed on David with a mixture of anger and disappointment.
"Ah, yes, there you go again, Jackson, spouting off about rules and protocols.
"You're always so quick to punish me, but you never care about the circumstances. You're always so quick to criticize me, but you never acknowledge my hard work.
Like last week, when I worked a double shift without complaint, but you didn't even thank me or recognize my efforts.
Instead, you found fault with minor things I did wrong; but you never hold others to the same standards.
Like when Sarah showed up late to her shift and you just brushed it off, but when I showed up five minutes late, you docked me an hour's pay.
Fucking hypocrisy!" David's voice rose in anger, his words dripping with sarcasm.
"If you're so keen on following rules, didn't the restaurant's guidelines explicitly state that if a customer dines and dashes, the waiter isn't held responsible? Then why was I punished for it? Why was I the one who has to pay the price for this freeloader's actions?" David's eyes blazed with indignation, his tone laced with venom.
"You're a fucking hypocrite, Jackson, and this whole situation reeks of double standards!"
"I'm not paid enough to care about your stupid ass rules and shit," David spat, his voice laced with disgust.
"You don't even care about your workers' wellbeing! You only care about your precious profits and your own ass."
He threw down his apron, his eyes blazing with anger. "I quit!" he exclaimed, storming out of the restaurant, leaving the stunned manager and shocked patrons in his wake.