“Not a bad cruller,” says the King of Cannoli, “but I don’t like the coffee.”
We’re almost back at the car. GL and AmberLea are sitting in the front; Mister Bones is in the back, curled up on what I guess is a Dependable.
“Why are you dragging me along?” AmberLea is saying. “I am so screwed.”
“Because I need your help,” GL says. “I have to do something important while there’s still time.”
“Like what, get to a liquor store?”
GL shakes her head. “You’re just like me at your age. Won’t listen to anyone. And when you won’t listen, you do a lot of things you’ll regret. Take it from me, you’re just getting started. I’ve had three children and I’ve been a terrible parent. Your aunt hasn’t talked to me in years, your mother runs on Valium, and neither one of them would know happy if it slapped them in the face. I didn’t help them; there was no one to help me—well, almost no one—but I can help you. And since you won’t listen, I have to show you something.”
“I thought I was helping you.”
“We’re helping each other.”
“Yeah, right. Great example, Gran. Tell that to my—”
“You’ll be back before he even knows you’re gone.”
“Oh, he’ll know all right.”
“If there’s a problem, I’ll deal with it. First, you need to see this. No one knows about this; not your mother, not anyone. You used to like secrets.”
“I’m not seven anymore.”
“I wish you were. Hush up and eat; we’ve got a long drive ahead. And it’s not as if I’m kidnapping anyone. You came willingly.”
“How about me?” says Al, as we come up behind her. He polishes off the cruller, tosses the coffee at a garbage can, reaches into the car and casually grabs GL’s scarf at the back of her neck. “Let’s cut the crap,” he says, still chewing. “Gun, keys, now.” With his other hand, he snatches GL’s bag from her lap.
I freeze in mid-bite of my bagel and cream cheese.
“Don’t be stupid,” GL croaks. “Let go of me or AmberLea starts screaming.”
“Oh yeah? Sounds to me as if she’d rather call a cab home.”
There’s a long moment where we’re all frozen. People stroll past with coffees. Then AmberLea quavers, “Yeah, let her go or”—she snatches the keys out of the ignition, where we now see they’ve been all along—“or these are gone.”
“Not with Mistah Bones they’re not,” grunts Al. He’s pawing the bag, one-handed, wedging it against the side of the car. “Where’s the gun?” he hisses.
“Not there,” GL gurgles.
AmberLea holds the keys high. Mister Bones jumps up, tail wagging, ready to play. She ignores him. Now she’s all chin. “Let her go.”
“Here!” I say around a mouthful of bagel and cream cheese. I skip away from Al, behind the trunk. AmberLea tosses me the keys. Al makes a pathetic jump, swats and misses as the bag falls to the pavement. Mister Bones loves it; he starts jumping too, and yapping like crazy. GL gurgles again. Miraculously, I catch the keys without dropping my bagel. “Pop the trunk,” I call to AmberLea. “Show the world what’s in there while Al does another Dumpster dive.”
Al turns to me, his hand still twisting GL’s scarf and gives me a look right out of Scarface. “I’ll kill her right h—” Suddenly, his face explodes in a grin and he lets go, waving both hands at me. “Awright, awright.” He laughs. “You can drive. Family joke!” he says over my shoulder. I look around. Half a dozen people are watching, all holding takeout. I grin at them, too, and pump my fist in the air like an idiot, waving the keys. They all smile or nod in a puzzled kind of way and move on.
Al’s good mood disappears. Behind him, GL slumps against the seat, panting. She gasps, “I thought we already dealt with this. Baker, shmaker, you’re on the lam. I’ve been around enough mobsters to know what you are. Right now we’re the best cover you can get…And you owe us for getting you and those bags across the border. So choose right now: team up or split up, but no more of this. What’s it going to be?”
“Awright.” The King of Cannoli—or whatever he really is—sags again. “Let’s go.”
“Spaceman drives,” says GL. “You and AmberLea in the back.”
“I should have brought sunscreen,” says AmberLea.
“There’s some in my bag. And Al, hat and wig on. You’re already pink up top.”
Al touches the top of his head. “Aw, geez.”
I get behind the wheel and start up the car and the GPS, still chewing the last of the bagel.
“Torrance, Ontario,” says GL, “Ten fifty Keeler Road. If we can get that far today, we’re fine.”
As we get back on the highway, AmberLea says from the back, “Gramma, did you say you had three kids?”
GL doesn’t say anything.