Park moves to my side. “He won’t be out for long.”
“Aren’t you going to kill him?”
“Do you want me to kill him? I was trying to be respectful.”
“I don’t want him to come after us again.”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”
Park bends down, hitting him over the head with the twelve-pack a second time. Then he grabs a box of Christmas lights from a nearby display and drags the man to one of the refrigerated doors. Park ties his hands up, looping the strand of lights through the door handle.
“Now,” he explains, “even if he does wake up, he can’t go anywhere.” He pulls out a cell phone and a wallet from his pockets.
“Oh, smart. We should learn who he’s working for.”
Park smiles at me. “Yep.” He points to a bag of chips on the ground. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
He nods his head to the chips. You don’t have to tell me twice. I bend down, grabbing some bags of Doritos and a bottle of water.
“Okay.” He straightens. “You ready to go?”
I hold up two Doritos bags. “Cool Ranch or Nacho Cheese?”
“Nacho Cheese every time.”
I smile, tossing the Cool Ranch bag aside. “I couldn’t agree more.”
He escorts me to the door.
“Where did the cashier go?” I ask as we pass the front counter. “Don’t we have to pay for the chips?”
“Uh, she left when the fighting started. I don’t think she gets paid enough to break up fights.” Park throws a couple of dollars onto the counter. “That should cover it.”
He opens the door, looking around. In the distance, police sirens blare.
“Is that for us?”
“Probably.”
“What happens if they come? Will we be arrested?”
Park tugs me toward the car, picking up his pace. “No one’s getting arrested.”
My eyes dart to the truck parked next to us at the gas pump. A large man is watching us as he fills his beat-up truck with gasoline. He’s dressed in a blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. His dark beard is long enough to go to the top of his sternum, and a toothpick hangs out of his mouth. He’s got an I’m-going-to-kill-you look in his eyes. It’s the opposite of a smolder—more of a tough guy, evil eye thing.
“Uh, Park?”
“I see him.” He throws open the passenger door, practically pushing me inside. “Stay in the car.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I can help.” But the door slams in my face.
I thought I was pretty helpful in the gas station.
I flip around in my seat, watching as the fight unfolds behind the car. Is this guy with the other guy we left inside the gas station, or is he a new threat? The mechanic dude is huge and seems to have the upper hand. The car shakes as he throws Park into the back window. His cheek smashes against the glass.
“It’s fine!” he says, trying to press his lips into a smile. “Everything’s under control.”
