Chapter 4
Walk on Home
We’re in line at the Burger King drive-through in Philly’s car. I’ve already ordered my four bacon double cheeseburgers. Philly is still making up his mind and LaShonda only wanted a Hershey pie.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this, man,” Philly’s dark eyes flash over to me before he turns back to the drive-through speaker, “Yeah give me three chicken Whoppers and a large Coke.”
“I think it’s a good idea she comes along,” I tell him for about the fifth time during this ride, “She’s got charm. Charisma. Plus, she can keep them distracted looking at her. That way they can’t think straight and end up giving us a better deal than they meant to.”
Philly adjusts his Mariners’ ball cap, socking it down tighter, “Whatever, man. I still say it’s stupid.”
“Will you shut the hell up, boy?” LaShonda’s using that high-pitched tone again and it collides with the effects of the joint I smoked before we left.
Philly turns so he can look back between the seats at her, “Boy? You don’t call me boy, I’m a man, nina!”
“Nina? Don’t pull that Spanish shit on me, boy!” she emphasizes ‘boy’ the way an angry teenage girl would. “The whole ride you’re bitch, bitch, bitching about Percy bringing me along so I can help you guys out.”
Even though he wasn’t raised in a Spanish speaking household and is nowhere near fluent in Espanol, Philly likes to toss out the Spanish words when he gets riled up.
He glares at me, wanting me to get involved then his smoldering eyes lock on LaShonda, “No more calling me boy, LaShonda. You’ve got to respect my status, right Perce?”
“Yeah,” I roll my eyes, “Pull forward to the window, man.”
He whips his head around and sees we’re next in line, “Right,” he says with more than a touch of resentment before pressing the gas pedal. We get to the window and both Philly and I notice the girl taking our money is one fine looking chick. Thick, auburn hair done up in a ponytail, clear green eyes and well-endowed in the chest. Our natural reaction is a low whistle and as he turns to me a look of understanding passes between us.
“What?” LaShonda wants to know, “You’re whistling at that?”
“Hell yeah!” Philly tells her excitedly, “I’d rather have her than those Chicken Whoppers. Damn!”
“Oh my god!” LaShonda is talking way too loudly and that girl can probably hear her. “You want me to get you some Kibbles ‘n Bits, Philly? You got a thing for dogs? She probably plays a great game of fetch, too!”
The girl must’ve heard at least some of that because she blushes, glancing back at LaShonda as she hands the food over to Philly who’s trying to apologize quietly.
“Don’t you apologize for me, boy!” LaShonda starts rolling down her window. “I can have my fucking opinion if I want to. Dog-ass ugly bitch can’t do a damned thing about it on company time, huh?”
I’ve heard enough. LaShonda wanted me to bring her along because she had nothing to do today. Promised me she’d act nice and be my little status symbol for the meeting at the Brass Jaw. Post-orgasmic decisions aren’t always the best, especially if they happen after you’ve had a fat joint. Clearly this decision was a mistake. I unbuckle my seatbelt, open the door and walk back to her door.
“Percy? Baby?” she’s giving me those big puppy dog eyes a little too late in the game, “You know I was just playing.”
“Get out,” I instruct her, holding her door open as the elderly couple in car behind us watch nervously.
“Oh, come on,” there’s a honey-sweet tone to her voice, “Can’t a girl get a little jealous?”
“That was fucked up!” Philly scowls at her, “Do like Perce says, get outta my fucking car, bitch!”
LaShonda’s smile melts into shock, “You can’t be serious. How am I gonna get home?”
“Out,” there’s frost forming on the words as I speak them, “Now. That or I drag you out.”
She’s silent as she steps out clutching her purse, watching my face closely. I show no emotion. If we were in Kingfin territory when she pulled this stunt I’d have yanked her out myself, but this part of the city employs plenty of police and no one knows me here so it’d be foolish to slap her around. Especially with all the people in their cars behind us taking in the show. Some teenage emo-looking kids in a Volvo two cars back blast their horn. I give them the finger without looking in their direction, then I swing my arm around to where my middle finger is in LaShonda’s face. Her mouth drops open, she shakes her head and starts walking as I slam the passenger door behind her.
“I apologize for that bullshit she said about you,” I tell the girl at the window who’s watched the entire drama unfold, “She’s only angry because she doesn’t have your looks, girl.”
The girl nods, blushing and mumbling some sort of thanks. Though she’s now quite a distance from me, I hear LaShonda muttering the ‘fuck you’ she wouldn’t dare say to my face. Doesn’t matter, she’ll call me tonight, I’m sure.
Author’s Note: Next chapter goes up on November 19th, 2009
