Page 140 of Remiss
“If a pancake is a cake made in a fry pan, what’s an oven cake?”
Christopher narrowed his eyes, searching for signs that Val was fucking with him. But nope. “It’s a motherfuckin’cake.”
“So why are they both cakes if they’re cooked differently?”
“Same ingredients, assfuck.”
Rocking on his heels, Val pursed his lips. “Are you sure about that? Pancakes aren’t nearly as thick as oven cakes. That’s why referring to both as cakes blows my fucking mind.”
“Ratios are different,” Christopher said irritably, his skin prickling. No one was ahead, so he glanced over his shoulder. Mort was heading toward them. After a wave, he turned back to Val. “You can always call panfuckincakes flapjacks. Keep your motherfuckin’ mind intact.”
“How’d they get the name—”
“If you finish that fuckin’ sentence, Ima shoot the fuck outta you. Ain’t interested in the motherfuckin’ origin of no goddamn cakes. Pan, oven, or ash.”
The moment he said that and Val’s eyes widened, Christopher regretted mentioning ash cakes. Luckily, Mort reached them and Val snapped his mouth shut. For now.
“Hey Prez,” Mort greeted and gave Val a two-fingered salute. “I thought you’d already be at Roxanne’s.”
“I been thinkin’ about cancelin’. Megan might call. Diesel leavin’ soon, but while he’s home, I can hear her voice.”
“Whatever Roxanne got to say might help,” Mort reasoned. “But I can go back to the club and wait a little longer. She might want to talk to you one-on-one.”
“Fuck, I didn’t think of that,” Val said. “It’s been so long since she invited us motherfuckers to breakfast, I wanted to ride Outlaw’s coattails for some of her stove cakes.”
Mort frowned.
“Don’t fuckin’ ask,” Christopher grumbled.
“It stands to reason if we have oven cakes, then pancakes isn’t the right name. You use a pan for the oven, too. So pancakes should be oven cakes and stove cakes should be fry cakes.”
“Shit like this keep you up at night?” Mort asked, lifting his brow.
“Sometimes,” Val admitted. “I try to figure out the mysteries of the world.”
“Newsfuckinflash: this ain’t one of them,” Christopher growled.
“To me it is.”
Throwing Val a filthy look, he started toward Roxanne’s. “She do make good coffee, so I’ll go for a few minutes.” He nodded to Mort and Val. “You motherfuckers know what the fuck’s goin’ on. Ain’t no reason for you not to come.”
Five minutes later, they reached the walkway between the back of Mort’s house and the front of Roxanne’s. Grant was standing on the porch, smoking a cigarette.
“Little dude,” Mort greeted.
“Hey Mort,” Grant responded, then said his hellos to Christopher and Val. “Dad and Roxy are in the kitchen. She’s preparing a huge breakfast, so I hope you brought your appetites.”
“Stove cakes with praline sauce?” Val asked, like a hopeful little motherfucker asking for candy.
“Stove…?”
“Don’t ask,” Christopher and Mort chorused.
Knox opened the door, though he didn’t step outside. He glanced at Grant and his mouth tightened, while Grant stiffened.
“Roxanne saw you all on camera,” Knox said. “She sent me out here to get you all before the food gets cold.”
“Say less,” Mort piped in, squeezing Grant’s shoulder as he passed by. He nodded at Knox and headed into the warmth of the house.
