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He shakes his head like an animal, spattering my arm, then runs his hand through his hair in a rough motion that’s become achingly familiar to me. It makes my stomach clench up. It makes my knees squeeze together under the counter.
“Not much,” he assures me.
“Vy golodniye?” Alla says.You hungry?
Adrik is the only person she likes.
“I’d never say no to your food.” He grins.
Alla really is an excellent cook, even though she hates her job with the fire of a thousand suns. Every time she lights the grill, I get the feeling she’s about to toss the match on the floor and burn the whole trailer to the ground.
In less than ten minutes, she brings Adrik a plate of piping hot fries and a burger with grilled onions and extra mustard.
Despite having just finished a plate of my own, I’m seized by the impulse to take the biggest bite possible out of that burger.
“Go ahead.” Adrik pushes me the plate. “You look hungrier than me.”
I doubt that—Adrik is just as busy as Hakim and me, bringing in the first shipments of raw materials, liaising with Eban Franko, setting up our distribution channels, and bribing the appropriate cops.
It’s not all work and no play, however. Not when we’re testing the drugs.
“I’ve got a new formula for you,” I murmur to Adrik.
“For tonight?”
“Yup.”
He grabs my knee under the counter, hard, making a low rumble in his throat.
“Good. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“There’s only one thing I want to eat.”
“Gross,” Hakim says, from Adrik’s other side.
“You better change your attitude,” Adrik says, slapping Hakim on the shoulder as he stands. “Those are the words of a single man.”
“You coming with us?” I ask Hakim.
“Go ahead. I’ll come along when I’m finished.”
He only has six fries left on his plate, but I’m guessing he’s gonna stretch them out as long as possible once he’s alone with Alla. Well, as alone as you can be with a highly observant twelve-year-old three stools down.
“Can I have a box?” I ask Alla. “I’ll eat this for breakfast.”
She passes me a Styrofoam takeout container. I tip Adrik’s burger inside, leaving her a wad of folded rubles as a tip.
“That’s too much,” Alla says, annoyed instead of gratified.
“That’s how good the food is.”
“Americans love to tip,” Adrik says, smoothing over my unwanted generosity.
“They love to show off,” Alla retorts, unsmoothed.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “That’s about right.”
