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The first, is a message from Luca. It reads, Are you alive?
The second, is one from Gustavo. Do not trust
I stare at the three words as a chill crawls up my spine. It’s not like him to send me such a half ass message, one without punctuation, left open to interpretation that way. Do not trust? Is it a who? A what? Don’t trust electronic communications?
Fuck. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
My finger hovers over the reply button, but instead, I log out, shut off the tablet and shove it back under the mattress.
“Dinner’s ready.” Lola peeks into the room. “Remember your promise.”
I say, “I know. But if you’re mom catches us, you’re going down with me.”
She takes a step closer and in a hushed, but serious tone, say, “If you want more of my minutes, don’t let her.”
I wipe my hand over my mouth to cover the smile that could completely ruin this alliance of ours. I’d hate for her to think I find her amusing, though in all honesty, I do. Not amusing in a funny way. Simply, admirable. Likable. And I’ve never liked a kid before, so that says a lot.
Lola is going places, I can tell.
I follow her out to the living area, where Miri is almost done preparing the meal, and her little boy Josh, is coloring on the couch.
I’m about to ask where everyone will sit, when Miri points to a closet. “Make yourself useful and grab the foldout table and chairs from in there.” She’s not exactly rude, but not kind either. “Then put them up behind us here.”
“Sure.” I grab a long black table and set it between the kitchen and couch, then place four chairs around it.
From somewhere in the house, Lola produces a portable bench. “I’ll sit in this one.”
“Get these on the table.” Miri serves spaghetti with a side of the dreaded Brussels sprouts on plates, handing them to me as she does.
I set one down on each place Lola is setting. When I put hers down, she wrinkles her nose and pokes at one of the vegetables.
Gross, she mouths.
“Don’t make faces, Lola. They’re good for you,” Andie says as she comes to the table. Our eyes automatically lock, a habit we’ve somehow formed. Then my eyes drop to the waistband of her jeans, where she pats an obvious bulge. The Glock.
Where the hell did she get a gun anyway? And, does she really know how to use it? Something tells me she does. If she didn’t learn when she was being taught how to steal money and hijack cars, she did after. As protective as she is of Lola, I don’t believe she’d have it in the house otherwise.
But do I believe she’d use it against me?
I flick my gaze back up to hers and return the grin she’s giving me. Guess it’s better not to find out.
Miri calls us all to the table. I take a spot between Andie and Lola. As I begin to eat, I realize that what I thought was spaghetti with marinara, is actually something different. While they are spaghetti noodles, the sauce is brown with tiny bits of peppers and tomatoes and some kind of ground meat. I peer at the food on my fork, curiously.
“Sloppy Joe noodles with turkey. I know, it’s weird,” Andie says apologetically. “But it’s Lola’s favorite.”
Lola watches me expectantly. “You shouldn’t make faces until you taste it.”
Instantly, I relax my features. “I wasn’t.”
“He’s probably never tasted poor people food, Lola,” Miri tells her, but is looking at me with obvious contempt. “Probably been eating caviar his entire life.”
“Miri!” Andie elbows her. “Be nice.”
“Seriously? After everything he’s… Ouch!” Miri cries out when Andie pinches her.
I take a bite.
“Well?” Lola urges me for a review.
