Chimera (The Korsak Brothers #1)(72)
“Kids, kids, come on now,” I admonished. “Play nice. I’ll get another basket.” Rising, I went to the counter to ask for more biscuits. By the time I returned, the two had come to terms and they promptly divided the new basket between them. Licking a finger, I philosophically dabbed at the three or four remaining crumbs. “What was that you said about sharing?”
Michael didn’t blink an eye at his hypocrisy. “I don’t recall.”
“Yeah. Plead the Fifth. Toss me under the bus.” The gun in my back waistband dug into my flesh and I leaned a few inches forward away from the ladder-back chair. “You have family in Waycross, Fisher?”
“My great-gramma Lilly-Mae.” Biscuits gone, she rubbed the end of her braid across the curve of her cheek. “She’s amazing. Everything you can think of, she’s done. She ran moonshine with her brothers back when she was younger than me. She worked the farm all by herself when her first husband died. Then, when she lost it, she became a stripper. And not just to survive, but because she thought it sounded like fun.” The blue eyes glittered with laughter and pride. “And that was in the old days when they’d run you out of town for something like that. She remarried more times than I can remember and ran for mayor when she was fifty. She didn’t win, but they still talk about her campaign . . . even twenty years later. They say she threw the best ‘we lost’ celebration ever. There were buffets, clowns, belly dancers, and even an elephant. The guy who won left his own victory party to go to hers.”
“Sounds like quite a lady.”
“She is. She’ll take me in. I’ve always been her favorite.” She grinned cheekily. “I’m a troublemaker just like her.”
I had no problem believing that. Despite myself, I was actually coming to like . . . to tolerate Miss Fisher Lee. She was somewhat obnoxious and more than a little pushy, but she was entertaining. And despite my earlier reservations, I now thought she was good for Michael. I was more than willing to be everything and everyone I could for him, but realistically he was going to have to learn to accept other people in his life. It was the only healthy option. I didn’t break him out of the Institute only to let him enclose himself in walls that while different, were just as isolating.
The barbecue was excellent, in every way as good as the biscuit crumbs. I curved a protective arm around my plate to fend off the rampaging piranhas. Finishing every bite but the pickle, I slid the slice of dill onto Michael’s plate. He was developing a fondness for things sour that rivaled his love of sweets. See the human trash compactor, only fifty cents. Walk this way and don’t stick your fingers between the bars.
“I think I’ll have me a piece of apple pie.” With a hand resting on the swell of her stomach, Fisher looked up at the waitress and added, “And don’t be stingy with the à la mode, sugar. Give me a bowl on the side. I’m eating for two.”
“What’s your excuse?” I murmured to Michael as he ordered the same.
“Youth,” he retorted without hesitation. “When I’m old like you, I’m sure I’ll have to cut back.”
Twenty-four . . . old? Punk-ass kid. Unfortunately, I had to admit there were times I felt much older than my true age. A culture of violence and a past full of regret will do that to you. That aside, this was not one of the times I felt like reaching for a walker. This was a good time. I was enjoying myself as I watched the dessert duel, and with bemusement I saluted Fisher as she finally finished two spoonfuls ahead of my brother. “The king is dead. All hail the queen.”
The queen laughed and gathered up the sauce-stained doggy bag for Blossom. She then went to stand by the front door and plugged a quarter in a gumball machine. As she blew large purple bubbles and tapped her foot impatiently, I came to the conclusion I was picking up her and Junior’s tab. After I forked over the twenty-five bucks, grumbling under my breath that I wasn’t a goddamn charity, the three of us stepped out into the winter sunshine.
That was where I lost considerably more than lunch money.
She was walking, waddling really, ahead of us by ten or fifteen feet. The parking lot was empty except for a few parked cars. The white fur trim of her coat waved sea anemone tendrils in the brisk breeze and her hair was as bright as the smile she gave us when she turned around. The metal of the gun she pointed at us was bright too, like a mirror. It was a cute little chrome revolver held in a cute little hand. It was also a steady hand, I noticed—rock steady.
“I almost feel bad, you know?” She tossed a braid over her shoulder and cocked her head coquettishly. “Ah, who am I kidding? Robbing y’all’s going to be the most fun I’ve had all day.”
My first thought when she’d gotten into the car was that she was playing us, if only a little. But somewhere between foot rubs and stories about a crackerjack grandma I’d let even that mild suspicion drift to the back burner. I’d forgotten the lesson of Wendy and the stripper at Koschecka and gone with the conclusion that the ride and a free lunch were all that Fisher was after. Too bad deductions such as that came from thinking with my smug ass instead of my empty head. In my business, I’d made my living outthinking predators, and yet here I stood . . . taken down by a pregnant girl in braids. Trying to live the straight and narrow—I wanted to be better for my brother, but being better could get us both killed.