For some reason, everyone stood stock-still.
“Dudes,” The Kevster greeted Goon Gary and The Moron as they approached, obviously not knowing who they were and also not feeling the tense vibe electrifying the air.
Rosie had gone pale and his ice cream cone was melting down his hand.
Goon Gary and The Moron ignored us, their eyes on Willie.
Willie pushed me behind him.
“You know who I am?” Willie asked Gary and The Moron.
The Moron nodded slowly, Gary didn’t respond.
“Then you’ll walk away,” Willie continued.
“Mr. Wilcox wants to talk to you,” Gary said, he was still looking at Willie but talking to Rosie. Not me. Rosie. Gary was on a mission, a mission important enough to ignore a police officer’s order.
Not good.
“Hey, I know you! You came looking for…” The Kevster’s four working brain cells finally fired and he recognized the boys. Then, he shouted, “Fuck!”
He threw his ice cream cone at Goon Gary, it splatted in his face and The Kevster took off running.
“What the –” Gary started to say, stunned immobile, what looked like Liks famous strawberry cheesecake ice cream dripping off his cheek and chin.
Splat!
Rosie threw his ice cream cone too, it hit Gary on the side of the head. Then he took off after The Kevster.
Splat!
Ally threw one of her cones at The Moron and it hit him in the chest. At this, Willie grabbed me and started to pull me away.
Splat!
Ally threw Willie’s cone, it hit Goon Gary in the shoulder.
Not to be outdone (even though it was a sacrifice, dark chocolate with dark chocolate chunks was the best), on the trot and being pulled by Willie, I aimed my cone at The Moron and, as he’d turned and started after us, it nailed him in the belly.
We all jumped into Willie’s Nissan Pathfinder. Goon Gary and The Moron gave up on us and headed to the BMW. Willie started up before we had our belts on, took off and we rocketed from the curb. Ally hadn’t yet seated herself and she was tumbling around the backseat in a crinkle of bags that were our take from the Lucky and Levi’s stores.
I saw Rosie and The Kevster, on foot, flying down the sidewalk.
“Stop!” I shouted to Willie. “Pick them up.”
“Fuck no,” Willie responded.
“Stop!” I screeched, my voice shrill, looking back at the BMW on our tail. “We can’t let Wilcox have them!”
About a quarter of a block passed the running grunge gods, Willie stood on the brakes and we all flew forward, the BMW swerved to avoid us and shot by.
Proof positive that men would do anything to stop a woman from yelling.
Ally threw open her door, leaned out and shouted, “Get in!”
Rosie and The Kevster jumped into the SUV, there was more crinkling of shopping bags, then Willie took off.
Everyone was silent. All you could hear was Rosie and The Kevster’s heavy breathing.