Wrong move.  The woman slapped it away so hard you could see it spinning through the air—at least, you could have if you were able to pull your gaze away from the two orbs of rage in the middle of her face.  “ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?  I’m not asking for your money!  I’m not looking for spiritual salvation, I don’t want to be psychoanalyzed, and I couldn’t care less who wins this year’s World Series!  I want freedom! I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE!”

This declaration was punctuated not so much by an exclamation point as it was by the woman’s wrinkled palm, which struck Peter’s cheek with a SMACK that reverberated so loudly it surely must have registered on the USGS seismometer in Morgantown, West Virginia.

She never would have slapped him if she wasn’t so worked up.  For one thing, she was not a violent person by nature.  For another, if she hadn’t been motivated by the all-consuming wrath that had developed from being ignored for weeks and weeks, she might have remembered to do her math.  One hand to knock the wallet away.  A second to smack him in the face.  No hand left to hold onto his arm.

Peter was off and running.  The woman sagged.  The demon of anger slowly left her.  She once again understood that slapping people around is probably not the best way to get them to help you.  As one final meaningless gesture, she called after him half-heartedly: “You’ll be back!”

The young man, unlike ninety percent of the people she encountered in Simon Park Station, actually took the time to respond.  “Not likely!” he shouted back, just before jumping onto the subway as the doors were closing.

The woman leaned back against her pillar, ready to sink down and await the next rush.  Except she couldn’t.  This time, someone was holding onto her.

She turned, and the first thing she saw was the smile.  It was a smile of triumph—no, it was more than that.  It was a wicked smile.  It was a smile that should not be allowed.  It resembled nothing more than the Nazis in Raiders of the Lost Ark, just before their faces started melting.  The woman couldn’t remember whether or not she had seen that movie, but anyone who had could have told her the description was perfectly apt.

It was only after taking in the awful smile that she noticed the uniform.

“Now that,” said Officer Tang, who was only able to restrain her giddiness because of her years of training (and even then she didn’t do a great job of it), “was Assault.”