Page 29 of Wicked Me
Okay. Well, now what? A donut in that bag and in this one... Money, loads and loads of money, filled the bag almost to the top in perfectly stacked bundles. So, was I supposed to take it, give it to Hill? I stepped closer to the streetlight as if it would help me weigh my options. Sweat leaked down my sides, which drove the mosquitoes even crazier.
Not fifteen seconds after the car left, another eerily similar one pulled in to take its place. The window rolled down, and a pale, muscular arm shot out to grip the side of the car.
I stood there melting while mosquitoes dive-bombed me and the donut bag because I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Was this guy here to pick up the money? Or was this a really popular curb to pull up against for no reason?
The hand outside the car flipped over, palm up, like it was waiting for something to be put on it, confirming that, yes, yes I was a jackass.
I stepped to the car, and almost,almost, put the bag with the donut in his hand. Wouldn’t that have been fucking hilarious? No. No, it wouldn’t. I didn’t have a death wish. Sweat poured off me so fast I thought I might pass out. I wasn’t thinking all that clearly, but somehow the right bag wound up in the guy’s hand.
He immediately dumped the money in his lap and started counting. Really, dude? Here? I wanted to tell him that but instead swatted at the swarm of mosquitos that splashed in the pools of sweat on my neck.
He glanced at me and wiped his startlingly red hair off his forehead. “Ya’ made me lose count. Stop moving.”
His luck o’ the Irish accent nearly made me crack a grin, but I remembered I wasn’t in a Lucky Charms commercial. Damn Irish and their awesome accents.
He counted, the driver flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, likely looking for cops, and I stood there while I was eaten alive and trying to stay upright. I guessed I would be dismissed after he was finished counting like the lowly dog I was.
A squeal from down the block kicked my heartbeat into overdrive. Not tires, but human. The Irishman and the driver must’ve not heard it over the idling engine, but it came again, closer this time. A red blur of movement shot down the sidewalk in our direction, along with hysterical laughter and a steady squeaking noise.
What the hell? I couldn’t look directly at whatever it was for fear I would be seen, so I didn’t know if I should take cover from a charging madman or just stand my ground.
The Irishman didn’t seem to care what was happening anywhere other than his lap or directly out his window, but the driver narrowed his eyes at the rearview mirror.
“We’re about to have company,” he said.
I ducked my head deeper into my hood, clicked the buttons on my jacket sleeves, and backed up a step toward my getaway route so I wouldn’t freak the fuck out. Mosquitoes suffocated me while the insane laughter and the squeaks grew louder.
The driver drew a gun from under his seat and set it on his lap.
Shit.
“Keisha!” a male voice shouted from just up the sidewalk.
I risked a look, ready to run if I needed to, but I was too late. A red tricycle smashed into my leg. Mad giggles erupted out of the drunk driver, a little black girl.
“Keisha, you should be in bed. Momma’s gonna kill you.” A boy, maybe fourteen, rolled the tricycle backward enough so he could pick it and the girl up. “I’m so sorry, mister.”
“Get out of here,” I hissed, then looked in the opposite direction.
They needed to leave here and fast. Kids like them had no business being out this late when the wicked came out to play.
When their footsteps faded, the driver put his gun back under the seat and sighed.
“I lost count again,” Irish said and started counting all over.
I wanted to fucking punch him in the throat. Instead, I glanced up the sidewalk to make sure the kids were a safe distance away. The girl struggled in the boy’s arms. The toes of her shoes dragged behind him next to the tricycle’s back wheels. They turned at a sidewalk that led to a small house. When they made it inside, it was a little easier to breathe.
“Okay,” Irish finally said. “It’s all here.”
Without another word, they drove away, leaving me alone at the corner of 131stand Chestnut with the mosquitoes and a pink tiara donut.
I guessed that was it, then, so I dropped the donut in the trash on the way to my car. One of Hill’s minions didn’t deserve a crown anyway.
