“Slash,” Cutter calls from the front door of the truck. Only his head is poking out.
Ky puts a hand up to me. “Hang out for a second, Snow.” So I do. But I also watch. I watch Cutter hand Ky a thick white envelope. It’s shady as all hell. Ky seems pleased as he shoves it into his back pocket and covers it with his shirt. They clasp hands again, and Cutter passes Ky two soda cans.
“Hey, Snow, catch.” Ky tosses me one and then the other. I catch both with no problem. Then Cutter hands Ky two plates of food.
“It was nice meetin’ ya, Snow. Come back for water ice before you leave,” Cutter calls before he disappears back into the truck.
My name isn’t Snow.I want to yell back, but what’s the point? That’s who I am tonight.Ky’s Snow.
“Ready?” Ky walks off toward the beach, and I follow. “Pop a squat.” He chins to a parking chock that just meets the sand.
We are getting fancy tonight.
I make myself as comfortable as possible as Ky hands me my dinner.
“Golden shrimp,” he voices proudly.
“We’ll see.” I push around the hearty shrimp smothered in a golden yellow sauce. It smells delicious, I’ll give it that.
“Cheers.” Ky holds a shrimp up on his plastic fork.
“Cheers.” I tap my shrimp to his, then we both take a bite. “Holy shit.” I cover my mouth, ’cause one, I’m shocked by the incredible taste, and two, I don't want to display my half-chewed up food.
“Told ya.” Ky is cocky.What else is new?
“What is in this sauce?”
“Not a fucking clue.” Ky holds another piece of shrimp up and inspects it. “I just know it gets the same reaction every time someone new tries it.”
“Are you selling drugs out of that truck?” I don’t beat around the bush. I saw the money exchange. I’m not an idiot.
Ky chokes a bit. He wasn’t expecting that question. I sprung it on him on purpose.
“No.” He starts to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You would peg me for a drug dealer.”
“Are you not?”
Ky stays silent.
“I have my answer.”
“I’m not tonight. Some shady stuff does happen around me, but this” — he nods back to the truck — “this is all kosher. Cash money.”
“You get a cut of what he earns?”
“He’s my employee. I own the truck.”
“You do?” I can’t hide my surprise.
“Don’t take me for an entrepreneur?” Ky bites into another piece of shrimp.
“No,” I snicker. “Not the mobile food kind.”
“I have three others, and I want to buy a fourth. Put them in the right spot, they’re little gold mines.”
