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Old 06-24-2004, 03:56 AM   #14
Willow Sylph
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Join Date: Mar 2004
Posts: 2,608
frank had a strange look on his face when he entered the diner. it was a little past midnight and i had been waiting for him since 11:30. my coffee cup was empty and if it hadn't been for the fact that i only had enough change in my pocket to leave a tip, i'd have left ten minutes earlier. i'd thought about stiffing the waitress five minutes earlier. but then frank showed with, like i said, that look of sick panic.

She was sitting there with that look on her face. She had obviously been waiting for a while, but after what I'd just been through, I was in no mood for a browbeating, so I preempted her saucy admonition, "Honey get your bag and we're leaving. Now." "Good God," she said with more than a little sarcasm, Those donuts look great." Donuts. Can you believe? Donuts... at a time like that. It was time for a terse rejoinder so we could escape with our lives. "Car. Now."

Doesn't he realize I always eat when I am nervous? The look on his face, and the way he ordered me to the car like I was a child, made me very nervous. I knew that whatever was up would be something I didn't want to hear. The grim set of his jaw and his lips pursed so tightly, caused my stomach to tighten. I grabbed my jacket and told him to buy me a donut and pay the tab, then I walked towards the door. Being bossy gave me the illusion of control, and I tried to ignore the way my hands were shaking as I reached for the handle without looking back.

it had gone wrong suddenly, I thought as I roughly grabbed her by the arm and dropped a crisp ATM twenty on the table. I ushered her out of the diner and into the street. so suddenly. I had been certain I could navigate the intricacies of the deal without anything like the trouble that was now bearing down on me, on the two of us, like the fabled steamroller. she started to object before catching the look in my eyes. my fear, like a greasy contagion, became hers.

What's wrong? I wanted to ask, but knew he'd tell me when he was ready. Miscalculations before had resulted in explosive responses, and I was ready to lose it myself. The donut churned distastefully in my stomach. Good thing I hadn't been in the mood for eggs.
I fumbled in my purse for some antacid, and my fingers touched the cold steel of the gun.

Hurrying her toward the car, I heard the last sound on earth I wanted to hear--the crunch-crunch of gravel from around the corner of the restaurant--over by where sonny's private entrance was. I grabbed her arm to keep her moving, reinforcing the notion through clenched teeth, "Don't run, but don't stop either." Oh my god. Is this how it ends? Is this sick sensation in the pit of my stomach what all people feel in their most panicked moment? It can't happen this way. I've got to get her out of here. Just keep walking. "Get in the car now!" I said to her slightly under my breathe in an overly urgent tone. She looked shocked, but thankfully she must have seen the seriousness in my eyes, because she got in fast, slammed the door and locked it.

I hate to admit it, but all this rough handling was kind of turning me on. I got ready to lick my lips and tell him so when I saw in the passenger side mirror two big guys in suits come up to him as he walked around the back of the car. I didn't have a good shot at either of them because the cargo area of frank's subaru station wagon was full of junk. His junk. Our junk, if you want to split hairs.

I recognized Ken. Ken's measurements are 6'5", 285. Ken had a friend of similar dimensions to be named later. "Sonny wants to have a word, Franklyn." Nobody calls me Franklyn. Usually they refer to me as Frankie Little Socks. "Yeah, Ken... I'll be right there." "Naah. Ya gotta come now." Flanked by Ken and his doppelganger, I waded back through the parking lot wondering if it was possible that they missed Cindye's presence? Maybe they didn't know her--and would pay the price.

This isn't how the moment had played in my head, months earlier when I had entertained the idea of such a stunt. Then it had seemed like an adventure, an exciting game that divorsed me from my life of sickeningly white pressed colars, of straight laces and split-level housing with neatly mowed lawns. This was no longer an idea but a distorted reality and, as I studied the profile of the pistol in my purse with my fingers, I was all-of-a-sudden frightened of the decision I had to make - of the decision I had made three weeks ago. I hesitated.

"Jesus. I don't think they even saw me. They have no idea I'm here. I don't know what to do. Should I run or see what they're talking about? I don't want to leave him, but I don't think there's anything I can do to help him." Then the thought occurred to her, as if second nature, to take a glance around in their car to see if there's anything she could use as a weapon (if it came to that). She opened the glove compartment. Nothing but napkins, maps, and some miscellaneous junk. Couldn't paper cut them to death. Anything under the seat? She half-commitally felt around. Her fingers brushed against something cool and hard. What..? She pulled it out. A gun...
Knight 1: We are now no longer the Knights who say "Ni".
Knight 2: NI!
Other Knights: Shh....
Knight 1: We are now the Knights who say.... "Ekki-Ekki-Ekki-Ekki-PTANG! Zoom-Boing! Z'nourrwringmm!"
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