“Because I win, and we’re doing what I say.” Crimley lowered his knife and offered Gunther a contrite smile.
He pounded Gunther on the shoulder. “We can’t get out of town, now. We have to ditch the money and come back for it, later. Relax, Gunther. I have an idea. Jim, pop the trunk, then get in the car—both of you.”
Responding to Crimley’s authority, Gunther and Jim ran to the Buick®. Crimley loaded the weapons and the money bag into the trunk and slammed it shut.
Crimley hopped in the back and Jim pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, this time in his own car, with two unwanted passengers crouched on the floor of the back seat.
“Okay,” Crimley said, “drive back to town. Nice and easy. We’ll need to stop and pick up supplies for tonight.”
Jim drove without comment, trying to bury his fear and concentrate on the task at hand as if his very survival depended on it.
Because it did.
Chapter Eleven
Perionne—Present Day
SOMEONE CALL THE DOCTOR! GOT A CASE OF LOVE BI-POLAR! My eyes snapped open to the awesomeness that is Katy Perry screeching from my iPod™ alarm clock. STUCK ON A ROLLER COASTER! CAN’T GET OFF THIS RIDE!
I groaned, realizing belatedly that today was a Saturday, and I’d forgotten to turn off my alarm. Katy went on a few more seconds about her boyfriend being hot and cold, yes then no, in and out, wrong when it’s right.
Bitch, then moan, I added in my head as I hit the “off” button. I’ve never kissed a girl, but I love Katy Perry. When I’m awake, anyway.
Well, I was up now, even if I wouldn’t define my current state as “awake”.
I flung aside the covers and wandered into the living room, still wearing my oversized Nickelback T-shirt, stifling a yawn, and trying to blink the sleep away.
I wonder if Mom would notice one less cup of coffee from the maker.
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee had drifted over from the kitchen. Mom had set the timer to auto-brew at 6:00 every morning, but with today being a Saturday and 90 minutes past brew time, the life-giving broth might stew another half hour or more before Her Majesty stumbled out of bed.
I considered the pros and cons and instead poured myself a glass of orange juice. In Mom’s head, coffee might stunt my growth, even at age 17. I didn’t even like coffee, just loved the smell. Plus, I wanted to deny some of it to Mizz High and Mighty snoozing down the hall.
Yet—I didn’t.
Screw the school routine, anyway, or I’d also still be sleeping. Since I was a good girl last night, I actually made it home at a reasonable hour.
Well…11:30 was a reasonable hour, compared to how I used to prowl around until well after midnight.
My thoughts fell to the other prowlers who still stalked the streets of Broad Ripple without me. With an ache in my chest, I wondered what Joey was doing, and if he missed me as much as I missed him.
I spied the desk in the corner of the living room, with Mom’s computer on top. Technically, the computer was for both of us, but she used it 99% of the time. I usually checked my Facebook® and e-mail on my cell phone or in the computer lab at school.
Since I was grounded from my phone through the weekend, and no one was awake to kick me off, I stabbed the power button and filled the room with the humming of the cooling fan.
The ’puter was about three years old, and it never booted Vista™ up particularly fast, but it ran well enough once it ground through the almost-five-minute startup. I made good use of this time by wolfing down a bowl of Frosted Flakes™ and settled in front of the screen just as the machine relinquished control over to me.
I called up Facebook® and typed in my account information. I hadn’t been on in almost two weeks. I was greeted with the usual plethora of notifications sorted by sub-categories, but my attention was riveted to my friends list and the one name I knew would no longer be listed among my followers: Joey Garrett.
I knew it would eventually happen. We were no longer together, and promises made in the past meant nothing in the temptations of today, but so soon?
I scanned five new messages in my inbox. Surely he had the courtesy to send me a “Dear Jane” before cutting me off at the knees. Surely even a self-obsessed little shit like Joey—poet extraordinaire—would take five minutes to lessen the pain and leave some sort of final thought. Something even as trite as “we were great together, but it just wasn’t meant to be” would have been preferable to a “no comment”.
One of the five messages in my inbox was from my friend Zadora, who hung out with us at the Caffé, caught my attention with the header “RE: Joey”. I took a deep breath, bracing myself as I clicked the message.
Hi, Feef!
Sure miss you on reading night! As you know by now, Joey decided to make a clean break. He told us last night not to say anything to you. Screw him, right? Ay, Caramba, gotta hurt bad, Chica! I’m sorry. He’s in a bad way, but we’ll keep him out of trouble—we owe you that much.
I always liked you, Chica, but you two were poison. Best thing for you was to get the hell out of here. I know you don’t see it that way, but take it from this senorita (at the ripe old age of 22 lol) forget about him and move on. You have a special heart, Chica, find someone worthy of you. You deserve it.
Zadora
I sat for—well, I don’t know how long—staring at the words on the screen, delivered like a long-distance, glowing, electronic punch. I waited for the shock to wear off and wondered if I would cry once it did. The cowardly shit couldn’t even write me himself—I had to receive a pity note from someone else. Because that’s all Zadora could do now, was feel sorry for me. The poor chiquita high school kid dumped by her stoner boyfriend. Since Zadora knew Joey for the shit that he was, she tried to provide the closure she knew he wouldn’t.
Soon, the words blurred away into predicable tears, but what surprised me was the lack of resonance down in my gut. I’d known this was coming and had been bracing myself. Now, here it was, and in reality…maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Today marked a new beginning—a fresh start. Except for one thing—I hate it here.
Classmates out to kill me, teachers out to flunk me, but on the bright side, all the computer geeks want to be my friend.
God, I miss Broad Ripple! Sure, after a couple of weeks away, I could see that a kid my age had no business hanging out with Butler University students, but Zadora and the “gang” admired my work and treated me as someone with talent equal to theirs. I only had problems if I stayed out too late and happened upon the random stranger stumbling home from a bar. Whose fault is that?
The first real sniffle came—just audible enough to catch someone’s attention—the just-rising Queen of the Abode herself. “Fiona? Are you okay?”
I clicked the window shut with one hand as I wiped a sleeve across my face with the other. If the first sniffle was audible, the second one echoed through the house. Dammit. Last thing I need to hear right now is “I told you he was no good for you” from the Prophetess.
“I’m okay, just…saw something sad on YouTube®.” I heard the distinct gurgle of coffee being poured. Mom wouldn’t venture far from the kitchen without a full mug, loaded with sugar and creamer. Her addiction to caffeine bought me almost two minutes to dab at my face and dry my tears.
She wandered in, dressed in her white silk robe and vanilla slippers, which happened to match the shag carpet. Though still bleary-eyed, her suspicious gaze fell upon me. She sank into the black leather couch near the computer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I mustered up a smile. “Couldn’t be better. Just a little tired.”
“It’s not Joey?”
Somehow, I froze the smile on my face. “No idea, Mom. Haven’t checked in with him since we got here.”
“It’s Joey.” This time, no question. She took a deep breath of self-righteousness, which I cut off.
“Mom, please…can we not do this? It’s over, and I won’t be contacting him
, again. You can take that away as a victory, and we’ll just skip the part where you rub my nose in it. Just this once.”
I waited, bracing, and could almost see the mental switching of gears in her head as she took pity on me and changed topics. “Actually, I have good news, and because you didn’t have your cell phone, I couldn’t tell you last night. Joke’s on me, I guess.”
I bit back my comment. If she could be nice, so could I. She extended my silver flip-top phone at me. I let it drop into my open palm and wrapped my fingers around it. “Thanks for that, but I gather that’s not the good news?”
“No, hon. I found a job for you. In fact, you start today.”
Uh-oh! “A job? Today? Doing what?” I’d spent a couple days during my week of suspension looking for a job to earn a few bucks, but with school already in session, most places had filled their quota of weekend and evening help. I’d tried the video store, some retail clothing places, and even an ice cream store.
“One of my new clients, Ted Adams, bought the Southern Chick’n Stop fast food place down the road.” I had, in fact, tried the Chick’n Stop a couple of weeks ago, but the impatient, fat manager with the rattling keychain attached to her side made it clear in no uncertain terms they had no open spots.
I repeated this to Mom, as if I had to justify that I might have missed this golden opportunity. She nodded and waved her hand to brush it aside. “Well, since then, he had to let a few people go, and now he needs help. He said you can come in later this morning to fill out the paperwork and watch some videos.”
Actually, I was hoping to avoid fast food. I’d worked both at a deli and a secondhand clothing store in Ripple, and there was no comparing the two.
Okay, well, as far as fast food goes, the Southern Chick’n Stop could be pretty tasty. Maybe I can land a spot behind the counter instead of back in the grill.
A twinge of something akin to gratitude tugged at me, but I shook it off before it could stick. I reminded myself that Mom just wanted my commitment to someplace I could be while she worked overtime at her office. The job amounted, in her head, to a glorified day care where they paid me instead of the other way around.
Still, that glorified day care meant extra spending money—something Ms. Stingy usually divvied out sparingly and only after much pleading on my part. So, this job thing definitely had an upside.
I nodded and rubbed the last of the sleep from my eyes. “I guess I’d better get dressed and head over. Thanks, Mom.”
I meant it.
* * * *
Walking the few blocks to the Chick’n Stop took about half an hour—just like anyplace else in this town. Mom offered to give me a lift, but as it was warming up into another hot day, and I wanted to enjoy the sunshine while we still had it, I decided to hoof it.
Besides, I wasn’t that anxious to get started.
Dressed and showered, I grabbed a slip of paper on my way out the door, where I’d jotted Chip’s cell phone number. I’d guessed correctly that I’d be able to add it to my phonebook, soon. Skipping along the sidewalk, I fired off a quick text message to him.
“C got a job Chikstop start 2day ttyl B”
I hit SEND, set the ringer for vibrate, dropped the fliptop into my denim jacket, and forgot about it. I waved at Sylvia—still rockin’ and knittin’, bless her pointy, old head—and broke into a light jog. I arrived twenty minutes later, a bit after 10, still feeling good but glad to step into the a.c. for awhile.
I approached the front counter, in the corner, away from the small group of customers and three open registers. The two dudes and one girl behind the counter all looked about my age, or close. One gave me a quick, impatient glance before turning his attention back to the customer rattling off his order.
Standing behind them, a puffy-faced, fat girl turned my way. She blinked dark, beady eyes at me, and I realized this was the same manager I’d spoken to a couple weeks ago—the one who’d told me they had no positions open.
She came nearer, taking off her headset. By way of greeting, she said, “I told you last time we don’t have no open spots.”
Ugh, she remembered me. Then again, my bright blue hair beacon and sparkling personality rendered me virtually unforgettable. “Actually, I’m already hired. I’m supposed to watch videos today.”
The glare she gave me made it quite clear how little she thought of being kept in the dark about new hires, particularly those she’d already shooed away. “You’re the fresh meat? Fona something?”
“Fiona,” I corrected. “Shaefer.”
“Okay, come back this way. We’ll get you set up on the videos.” She indicated the swinging door set into the counter. The manager passed the headset off to a tall, skinny dude back by the deep fryers and grabbed a clipboard up from behind the counter. She held the clipboard up with the self-importance of a health inspector paying a surprise visit. “Birthdate and ‘soc’?”
I rattled off my birthdate and social security number. She tapped on the touch screen of the closest register on the counter. I waited patiently, then impatiently, as the seconds dragged on. I could see various windows opening and closing, but had no idea what was going on.
Finally satisfied, perhaps two minutes later, she scribbled a note on her clipboard.
“Everyone clocks in on this register,” she said. “You enter your birthdate and ‘soc’ to clock in—enter it again to clock out. Simple.” She waved a beefy arm at the swinging door leading to the back of the store. “Follow me, Fresh Meat.”
We walked up a narrow path, past the grill. The aroma of just-cooked southern fried chicken patties, so pleasant from the counter, transitioned into old grease and caked-on, raw poultry juice. My nose twitched. I wondered if I’d ever want to eat here after this, or if I’d get used to the smell.
I followed her back to a tiny rectangle of a break room, dominated by a small table and restaurant chairs scattered in disarray. A 10” TV with a built-in DVD™ player sat on a high shelf, facing the table. I noted the manager’s office against the far wall, recognizable by the heavy steel door with the inset, horizontal slot-shaped window.
“Have a seat, Fresh Meat. My name’s Kim, by the way.”
I flashed my most disarming smile. “My name’s Fiona, by the way.” I’d considered adding that everyone called me Fi-Fi, but I didn’t have the energy. Fiona—for today, at least—would be preferable to Fresh Meat.
To my surprise, Kim laughed. “Spunky. I like that. Don’t worry, Fresh Meat. You’ll lose the title in a couple days.” She reached out and clapped me on the back—not hard, but I flinched, anyway. Kim creeped me out, and I couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of working with her. She took her job and the power it brought her waaaay too seriously, which meant she didn’t have much else going for her.
I waited while Kim disappeared into the office, and reappeared moments later with some DVD™ cases. Behind her, a short, older man of maybe 30—balding and graying at the temples and well into inflating the spare tire around his middle—also emerged from the office. He smiled at me and extended his hand. “Hello, Fiona. My name’s Teddy. I’m the owner/operator of the Perionne Southern Chick’n’ Stop.”
I met his hand with a firm squeeze. “Hello, sir.”
“Your mother told me about your job search just in time. We lost a lot of kids when school started, and we really need the help. Welcome aboard.” I smiled at the warm welcome, noting that Kim would do well to follow his example.
“Thank you, sir. I’m anxious to start.”
I waited while Teddy’s gaze traveled over my form, top to bottom. “Well, I can’t say I’m thrilled about the hair, but if you work the counter, you’ll have a hat on, anyway. No nail polish, rings, or any other jewelry when you’re on duty. We can’t have anyone losing something while handling the food. Cell phones stay in your locker when you’re on the clock. I won’t tolerate texting or phone calls when you’re supposed to be working. I expect you to take ownership of whatever task we give you, even i
f that’s scrubbing the urinals. You are always polite and courteous to our customers, no matter how rude they might get. Absolutely no profanity anywhere on the property, whether you’re on duty or off.”
I nodded. So far it all seemed reasonable, even though I’d have to take extra precautions to watch my damn mouth.
Teddy extended a clipboard at me. I glanced down at the W-2 and various forms and rules. “The training videos will go into a lot of procedures, but those are my rules of the road. Any problems so far?”
“No problems, sir.”
Teddy nodded. “You can fill those out while you’re watching the videos. Better settle in. It can take three hours or so. Oh, and you have unlimited drink refills throughout the day.”
I grinned at that. “Even the sweet tea?”
“Of course. Ready to get started?”
I grabbed a cup and turned in the direction of the counter. “Just give me a minute to fill up, and I’ll be ready.”
I worked my way back to the drink station, dodging metal fry baskets and cardboard boxes cluttering the aisle. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
I was so wrong.
Chapter Twelve
Twenty minutes later, I was taking notes about FILO, the First-In, Last-Out rule of storing food in a walk-in freezer. I’d already been interrupted five times by other workers cutting through on their way from here to there and wanting to say hi to the “Fresh Meat,” so I was only about 10 minutes into the video, such as it was.
As I stared at a badly acted scenario demonstrating the various ways to pollute your food with salmonella, Manager Kim waddled through, past the office and into an area I hadn’t yet ventured. She returned moments later, dragging behind her a large, oversized duffel bag. She placed it before her like Indiana Jones returning with the buried treasure. “Kill the video, Fresh Meat. Duty calls.”
“What’s up?” I asked, stabbing the stop button on the remote.
“We had two people call in sick today, so we’re short.” As she spoke, she unzipped the top of the duffel, exposing a bulbous, golden polyester chicken head with an open, bright orange beak. The gold polyester cut off at the neck, extending out to shoulder pads of white foam.
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