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As we strip off our protective gear, I say to Hakim, “You going to Neve Markov’s wedding?”
“Yeah,” he says. “She invited all the Wolfpack. Which is nice, since I don’t know her personally.”
“How ‘bout you, Jasper?” I call, tossing my goggles onto the messy heap of my hazmat suit and gloves in the trunk of the SUV.
Jasper is smoking moodily, sitting on the filthy curb behind the brewery. He doesn’t seem to care that the cement is wet and icy, or that he probably shouldn’t be smoking so close to a fresh tattoo. He gives a little start when I call out to him, looking up at me with those pale green eyes ringed with black.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t like weddings.”
“This one’s gonna be a who’s-who of mafia royalty though,” I say, “It’s the mafia Oscars.”
“That sounds fuckin’ awful.” Jasper stubs out his cigarette on the curb, dropping the butt in the gutter.
“Winter weddings are stupid,” Hakim says. “They should wait for summer.”
“Maybe they don’t want to wait.” I shrug. “Everybody says they’re crazy about each other.”
“Yeah, give it six months,” Jasper says.
“You should write greeting cards, Jasper,” I say. “For people who want to ruin their loved one’s day.”
“Happy Birthday,” Hakim says. “The endless nothingness of death is one year closer.”
“Happy Anniversary,” I say. “I’ve only cheated on you twice in twenty years, and I feel like that’s pretty good.”
“Happy Father’s Day,” Hakim says. “All my worst traits come from you, Dad, yet I look like Mom and that bothers you ever since the divorce.”
“Fuck off,” Jasper snarls.
I have at least six more Jasper greeting card ideas, but I decide to save them to tell Adrik later. Jasper really does look like shit, and it’s not as much fun to tease him when he’s all fucked up.
“Come on,” I say. “You gotta try Shake Burger.”
We drive around the purse factory, even though it would only take a couple of minutes to walk.
Jasper looks around at the turquoise vinyl booths, the checkered tiles, Formica tables, and the old jukebox in the corner.
“Looks like thatPulp Fictionmovie,” he remarks.
“You like Tarantino?” I say. “I didn’t know that.”
“I like all movies,” Jasper replies. “But his are some of the best.”
“You want me to put onYou Can Never Tell?” I grin. “We can dance.”
“Jasper can’t dance,” Hakim informs me, plopping down on the stool closest to where his crush is furiously slicing tomatoes. “Dobriy den,Alla.”
Alla glances up at us, but offers no greeting other than a long-suffering sigh.
“Gde Misha?” I ask.Where’s Misha?
“V shkole,”Alla grunts.School.
“Oh, right.” I check the clock on the wall. “We’re early today.”
“Doesn’t anyone else ever eat here?” Hakim asks, looking around the empty restaurant.
“Nyet,”Alla says. “American diner is stupid idea. My father was idiot.”
