Page 14 of Ruined

“That is good,” VanDinn says. “That is very good.”

“The woman who makes these is a true artist,” Angelo agrees, taking one for himself.

I realize that now all I really have to report is that Angelo found a bound man and gave him a cupcake. This would not hold up in a court of law. Even attempting to repeat this story in front of a jury, especially under cross-examination by a talented lawyer, would make Angelo seem honestly kind of cool or at least eccentric and perhaps even kind. This man plays all the angles all the time. He is intelligent in ways I know I am yet to begin to appreciate.

Bobby utters a curse, puts the soda down on the table between Angelo and VanDinn, turns on his heel, and gets back into the driver’s seat of the car.

He seems to have forgotten I’m here, or maybe I’m just so completely irrelevant to him he doesn’t care.

“Shut the fucking rear door,” he snaps over his shoulder.

I suppose he hasn’t forgotten me. Or maybe the open door reminded him. Either way, I do as he asks and shut the door. That leaves me in a confined space with a very agitated and denied Bobby Vitali.

“I haven’t gotten to kill anyone in fucking months,” he curses. “VanDinn is scum. He deserves to fucking die. Fucking trafficking piece of shit.”

It is a very weird sensation to realize that I am fully on board with Bobby on this particular matter. There is nothing VanDinn will not transport. Nothing at all.

“And we didn’t get any cupcakes,” I add.

There’s a pause in which I am sure Bobby is going to tell me to shut the fuck up, but he shoots me a dark look in the rear-view mirror and slams the steering wheel with his palm.

“And we didn’t get any cupcakes,” he agrees.

I am certain he wants to wind down the passenger side window, yell to Angelo to get in, and get out of here, but he doesn’t dare talk to Angelo that way. The two of us are stuck in the car together, like a couple of puppies waiting with the AC on while their owner brunches with a friend.

“I’m hungry,” he declares.

I am also hungry, now he mentions it.

“We should go and get some burgers or something, swing by and pick Angelo up in a bit.”

I say it somewhat as a joke, but Bobby perks up. He does put the passenger window down and calls out to Angelo.

“Hey. Angelo. Kid and I are going to get some burgers. We’ll be back.”

“You are not,” Angelo says, with a faint and brief but very viewable expression of have you lost your mind, boy, on his face.

“We’re hungry! At least give us the rest of the cupcakes. Fuck.”

Angelo’s expression turns from incredulous to stern. “You and I are going to have a reckoning,” he informs Bobby.

VanDinn looks slightly smug about that. The way Angelo says the word reckoning is cold enough to give a penguin chills.

Bobby winds the window back up, protecting himself with the tint. Angelo can no longer see him, but the patriarchal stare persists for a good few seconds and even I feel it by proximity. Bobby is going to be getting it later.

“Now I want a fucking burger,” he curses, more to himself than me.

I see potential here, a glimmer of light into which a wedge might be driven by someone skilled. Angelo and Bobby’s relationship began as captor and captive, and there is still much rebellion in Bobby. I don’t know if he could be convinced to turn against Angelo completely, but I think he could be manipulated to giving me enough of an advantage to escape.

“Curly fries,” I mention, just saying those two words, knowing they’ll conjure fresh hunger and more frustration in Bobby. He’s kind of a basic animal, not stupid exactly, but very much driven by impulse and desire. I think that’s why Angelo likes him. He’s a lover, but he’s also a pet, like a hyena on a chain.

“Fuck yes. Curly fries,” Bobby groans.

“And a shake.”

“Strawberry shake,” he replies.

I cannot and do not want to try to seduce Bobby sexually — I can’t think of anything more terrifying. But I am getting through to him with food. I’m torturing myself too, of course, but I don’t mind that. I can sense that I’m having an effect here. I was trained to work undercover, and I know that survival in a situation like this means having some kind of hook, some way to get leverage on an otherwise uncontrollable situation.

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