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Fucking gutter punks.
“Well, well, well.” Q coughs, holding the smoke in her lungs. “If it ain’t our new roomie, Hawaii Five-0. Everybody say, ‘Hi, Hawaii Five-0.’”
“Hi, Hawaii Five-0,” the clan drawls without looking up.
“Where’s the luau?” Q exhales and passes the joint to her right.
I want to bark at her that I don’t have time for her bullshit, but I smirk through my rage and hold up the empty water bottles. “Know where I can fill these?”
Q gets an evil glimmer in her gangrene-colored eyes and sits forward. She drops her feet to the floor and sits with her legs spread wide apart, like a dude.
“Water’s for employees only, Surfer Boy.” Q eyes me up and down. Her eyebrows and eyelashes are thick and dark. Her brownish-greenish-yellowish dreadlocks are flipped over the top of her head, spilling over one shoulder and ending somewhere below the full tits she’s hiding underneath that baggy T-shirt. And the gold hoop in her nose glints in the light as she grins, deciding she likes what she sees.
I don’t need this shit.
“You know what? I’ll find it somewhere else. Thanks.”
I turn to leave, but the sound of Q’s plastic chair scraping the ground stops me in my tracks.
“Hold up.”
I look at her over my shoulder with my not interested in your bullshit face firmly in place.
“Let’s take a little field trip. I wanna show you somethin’.”
“I don’t have time for—”
“Listen, muhfucka. I let you stay in my castle last night. I gave you my protection from the Bonys. I fuckin’ fed yo’ ass. You can give me five minutes.”
She’s right. I might not like this bitch, but right now, she’s the best resource I’ve got.
“Fine. Five.”
“I’m sorry. I think what you meant to say is, Thank you, Yo Majesty.” Q stands and brushes her dreads over her shoulder with a dramatic sweep of her hand.
“Thanks,” I mutter as Q turns and walks away from the table, gesturing for me to follow her with a flick of her long-ass fingernails.
“We gon’ have to work on that last part.” She cackles over her shoulder.
I feel the eyes of everyone in the food court on my back as we walk across the room and through a swinging half-door next to one of the fast-food counters.
“You ever see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Surfer Boy?”
“Uh, yeah. Why?” I mutter as we turn down a series of skinny, unlit hallways behind the restaurant kitchens.
Q pulls the latch on a heavy metal door and yanks it open, revealing a set of metal stairs. “Because I’m about to show you the April 23 version.” Q grins and gestures for me to go up the stairs first.
Fuck it. Here we go, down the rabbit hole.
I can’t see shit in the stairwell, but after what I found at the top of the last dark staircase I climbed, I’m pretty sure whatever I’m about to see couldn’t possibly be worse. When I get to the landing at the top, I reach my hands out in front of me and feel the smooth surface of a metal door.
“Open it,” Q says behind me, so I find the handle and give it a shove.
When the door swings open, the sun slaps me in the face so hard that it damn near blinds me. I lift my forearm to shield my eyes, and Q chuckles behind me.
“Go on.”
I step out onto the roof, and the first thing I notice is the sound of birds clucking … just before something huge goes flapping past my face.
