Lee went to work, Willie and I went to Fortnum’s, and, in the afternoon, Ally and I took Willie to the mall.
We were treating him to a waffle cone because he’d managed to survive an Indy and Ally Do Cherry Creek Shopping Center Experience complete with full-on explorations of Levi’s, Lucky and Diesel and fly-bys through Guess and Urban Outfitters.
After I’d asked Willie how he felt about the tenth pair of Lucky jeans I tried on, he told me he was going to hunt down and murder Terry Wilcox his own damned self.
Hmm.
(I didn’t buy the jeans.)
I was feeling weird because I wasn’t feeling weird about admitting to Lee that I loved him and I thought I should be feeling weird.
Question, what did you do when you got exactly what you always wanted?
Answer, you went shopping with your best friend, then got ice cream.
I was barely keeping up with my melting double dip of dark chocolate with dark chocolate chunks when I heard, “Cool! It’s the Rock Chicks.”
I looked up and stared in total shock at The Kevster and Rosie who were heading our way, both carrying their own double dip waffle cones (you didn’t do a single dip at Liks, it was the law) and looking like they didn’t have a care in the world.
At their approach, Willie stood, handing his cone to Ally.
The Kevster reared back at Willie’s defensive posture and put up a hand, index and middle finger extended.
“Dude. We come in peace.”
“It’s okay, we know them,” I told Willie.
Willie relaxed, slightly.
“I thought you two were in jail,” I said to The Kevster and Rosie, coming to my feet.
“Made bond,” Rosie replied, an “O” of ice cream coating his lips (if I had to guess, by the looks of it, rocky road).
“Who paid your bond?” Ally asked, also on her feet.
“Our fairy godmother?” The Kevster responded and it was a question.
I looked at Ally, then back at The Kevster. “You don’t know who paid your bond?”
“Should we?” The Kevster looked confused, or, more confused than usual.
I wasn’t getting a good feeling about this.
“Is that even possible?” Ally was talking to Willie.
“Did you read the papers?” Willie didn’t respond to Ally, he was looking at the two grunge muffins and their ice cream cones and he didn’t seem happy.
“Papers?” This was clearly more than The Kevster could process.
Before we could continue this useless conversation, a black BMW with shaded windows came to a screeching halt on 13th Avenue. It didn’t park, it stopped in one of the three through lanes.
“Oh shit,” Ally said, eyes on the BMW.
“Get to the car,” Willie ordered, all relaxation gone.
Before we could make a move, Goon Gary and The Moron were headed our way.
“Get to the car,” Willie repeated.