Page 57 - Demo

“Sonny.”
“I’m Rhonda.” “I know.”
“Those guys are good guys; really, you don’t have to be mad at them just because they tip badly. Not everyone knows how to tip. We should’ve given you a better tip. When you get shot, you should get a good tip.” She smiled, as if she expected Sonny to find the humor in that. “Are you okay?”
“With what?” “Getting shot.”
“Sure. I love getting shot. Doesn’t everyone?” He shook his head, because she was even dumber being nice than when she was being a stranger.
“I didn’t mean are you okay with being shot, I meant after you were shot.”
“I’ll live.” Before Rhonda had joined him on the bus bench, he hadn’t thought of food, but now that she’d raised the idea in his head, the smell of cook- ing meat wafting from the golden arches was mak- ing him terribly hungry, especially since he’d eaten only a tuna sandwich and some Doritos around noontime.
“Well,” Rhonda said, standing, “if you change your mind, we’ll be inside.”
Sonny figured they owed him for shooting him and for the lousy tip, so he decided to take her up on
her offer, never thinking about having to sit with them while he ate. He just followed her inside, and she smiled at his sudden and silent change of heart, opening the door for him, walking him to the coun- ter and letting him order a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries and a Dr. Pepper. She paid for it and sat down with the two men. As Sonny waited at the counter for his food order, he heard their whispering, their guttural incredulity and Rhonda’s snippy, sharp replies. When his food came, he walked out of the side door and returned to the bus bench and hungrily ate. Before long, he felt the presence of someone sit- ting beside him, and turned to find Rhonda sipping her Coke.
“That wasn’t very nice,” she said. “Letting me buy you dinner and then not saying thank you or joining us at our table. That’s not the way to mend fences.” Sonny didn’t know what she meant by that and stuck the
“Sonny ran for the trap house. He calmly climbed
down into it and switched the trap arm to manual, coiling
the cord to the remote button around the base of it, and shot pigeons at the hills until the box- es were empty.”
(continued on page 61)
50