Chapter forty six

word count: 847

"We gotta get outta here," Vic muttered under his breath. The last thing he wanted was Uncle Frank's thugs to realize he saw them load a body into their car. Hell, he'd be the next cadaver they took for a ride.

"I'm still hungry," the whore said, standing next to him. They were calm words, but a glance her way showed she was trembling as much as he.

"Right, let's go."

The warmly lit McDonald's was a great relief. They pushed other patrons aside to get in, in to safety, away from the carnage they'd seen a few blocks away.

The teenage clerk eyed them warily. "CanITakeYourOrder?"...It all came out a like a rumbling freight train. He tapped his fingers on the counter and glanced away.

"What do you want?" Vic asked.

"Pancakes and sausage." Her voice chirped it out like a happy five-year old.

"Make it two...and coffee, lots of coffee."

When they settled at a table, the girl grabbed her food like an animal, fumbling for the plastic fork, tearing open the container.

"I guess your mother never taught you table manners." He opened his utensil packet calmly and spread the napkin on his lap.

She looked up from her syrup-deluged pancake stack, fork in hand, stating, "Don't talk about my mother."

"Sensitive issue, I see."

She glared back. "Did it ever occur to you I'm a person, not just some whore you can force to go down on you whenever you like. I got a family and stuff just like you. I'm a person!"

"Okay. Okay!" Other people were staring. He could feel their eyes cutting into his skin. Their conversation, louder than it should be, didn't help either. He started his stack of pancakes. In his annoyed state, they slid down his throat like cotton balls, sticking along the way.

His eyes rested on her skinny fingers, clutching the fork in a fist like a farmer's wife. Except unlike a farmer's wife, her fingers and thumbs were riddled with cheap rings and her long fake nails boasted a ghastly shade of black. Her bare arms were so skinny, it was hard to believe a living person possessed them. The last time he'd seen arms that thin was his Aunt Frieda days before she succumbed to cancer.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing...nothing." He studied her face, so thin, etched at the moment with lines of outrage. With her dark hair spiking out all around, she looked like a scarecrow. He ran his eyes down to her breasts, held captive in a tight shell which hardly diminished their significant size. It looked like balloons stuffed in there. No wonder people were staring at them.

"Quit looking at me. Dammit!" She returned to her meal, eating slower now that her initial hunger had been sated. As she savored each bite, her expression took on a childlike innocence.

"I didn't mean to stare. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'd appreciate you treating me better. I'm just saying, I deserve better."

"You're a whore!"

"Well. I'm a person, too! Why don't you call me by my name once in a while, instead of 'Hey you' or something?"

People were staring again. His brain was muddled. "What is your name anyway?"

"Jessa! Dammit, my name is Jessa!"

"Okay...Jessa." His eyes traveled to the entrance. He was always on the lookout. When you had as many dirty deals going down as he did, you kept your eyes open. Two big men came through the door. Vic's heart slammed to the floor. "Get down!" he said, grabbing Jessa's wrist to squeeze his point home. He motioned she should duck under the table. They met there, bumping heads.

"What the hell is it?"

"Uncle Frank's men. The ones we saw. They know me. Can't let them see me."

"Oh shit! From the fucking frying pan to the fire."

"Stay still." He peeked up, scanned the restaurant. Bending back down, he whispered, "I don't see them. Let's run for it."

"What about my breakfast?"

"Bring it with you! I don't care. Let's go!"

They scurried like mice, out the front door and off to the nearest alley, stopping to catch their breaths, leaning against a wall.

"Good! I think we made it," Vic said.

"Can I finish eating now?" Jessa had her plate of pancakes. She lifted one with her bare fingers and stuffed it in her mouth.

Vic was busy thinking and didn't notice. "You know what?" he said. We need to change our appearance. We're gonna get caught if we don't do something. He paused to look at her. "I think you need some different clothes, maybe a ladies' suit, some old lady shoes, flatten your hair down, maybe some fake glasses, perhaps a 'librarian'-look."

"Old lady shoes? No way! What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're going to Macy's and get some clothes so we blend in. No matter how far we travel, they're gonna find us if we look like this. And if they find us, we're dead meat. Now come on, let's go."