Read Online No Safety in Numbers by Dayna Lorentz - Free Book Online
Authors: Dayna Lorentz
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Jumbo Shrimp was spoken for.
Mike jutted his chin at the Tarrytown guys as they disappeared into the masses. “Nice move with the shoulder, J. Shrimp,” he said. He smirked at Drew. “Now, I feel like gnawing on a Taco.”
“I need to pound something,” Drew growled.
Ryan had no idea what they were talking about, but he was not about to leave their side.
Mike led the way up to the top floor. The whole trip, Drew and Mike were doing a play-by-play of the game.
“When you tanked that skinny guy, I thought he was going to puke!” Drew honked a laugh.
“Nothing beats J. Shrimp here hurdling Leon and taking it in for the kill.” Mike noogied Ryan’s head, thenpushed him away with a laugh. It was something Thad would have done.
“Just playing the game, my brothers,” Ryan said, cool as anything, though inside he was bouncing like a five-year-old hopped up on sugar.
Mike led the way to the Grill’n’Shake and waited for the hostess. “We’d like a table,” he said when she appeared, “in
his
area.” Mike pointed at a scrawny kid laboring under a giant tub of dirty dishes.
“Marco?” the girl said. “He’s a busboy, not a server. This way.” She pinched three menus between her pink-clawed fingers and led them through a maze of tables to a booth in the back of the restaurant.
“We eating?” Ryan asked.
Mike scanned the restaurant. “We can eat,” he said, slapping his dad’s credit card on the table.
Ryan was fine with just a chicken sandwich and a Coke, but Mike and Drew ordered wings, a fried onion thing, potato skins, and two chicken sandwiches each.
“A growing boy’s got to eat,” Drew said, winking at the waitress. She rolled her eyes in response.
While they ate, Mike and Drew rambled on to Ryan about their conquests over the years. Ryan knew of Mike and Drew’s reputation for preying on the weak, but he’d had no idea how much time they devoted to their efforts. It was like every second they were off the field, they were at work on their latest target. They liked to study a kid, really get under his skin, then tear him apart from the inside.
“Remember when we caught VanEmburgh waxing his chest?”
“I had no idea that shit would actually rip his skin,” Mike said, holding his hands up like,
Whatcha gonna do?
With each story, Ryan found it harder to muster a laugh. If it weren’t for Thad, he might be on the wrong side of Mike and Drew’s equation and end up having his head dunked into a toilet for buying the wrong kind of chips.
“That brings us to Taco,” Mike said, swinging a thumb in the direction of the skinny busboy. “Dinged my car with his bike.”
Drew leaned in to Ryan. “We took care of the bike,” he said. “But the kid’s still got some pain coming his way.”
Taco—the hostess had called him Marco—did not look like he needed any more pain. His apron was wrinkled and dirty, and he looked like he’d been working all day without a break. Ryan knew that he should intervene, save this poor loser from whatever hurt Drew and Mike intended for him. But Ryan’s inner devil spoke the truth: Why stick your neck out for some kid you don’t even know, especially when it means driving off the only two allies you have in this place? Ryan kept his trap shut.
Mike and Drew loitered in the booth until the table next to them left and needed to be cleared. Marco had avoided their row since they arrived, but now he had no choice but to sling his empty bin over his shoulder and walk as bravely as possible into enemy territory.
“What’s up, Taco?” Mike said, turning in his seat and draping his arms over the seat back.
The kid didn’t even flinch. “I’ve got bigger problems than you,” he said. He dumped a soda into the bin, then stacked the plates and slid them on top.
“I highly doubt that,” Mike said.
The kid snorted—laughed, even. Ryan wondered if perhaps the guy had lost his mind from being overworked.
“Someday soon, Richter,” Marco said,
Mike jutted his chin at the Tarrytown guys as they disappeared into the masses. “Nice move with the shoulder, J. Shrimp,” he said. He smirked at Drew. “Now, I feel like gnawing on a Taco.”
“I need to pound something,” Drew growled.
Ryan had no idea what they were talking about, but he was not about to leave their side.
Mike led the way up to the top floor. The whole trip, Drew and Mike were doing a play-by-play of the game.
“When you tanked that skinny guy, I thought he was going to puke!” Drew honked a laugh.
“Nothing beats J. Shrimp here hurdling Leon and taking it in for the kill.” Mike noogied Ryan’s head, thenpushed him away with a laugh. It was something Thad would have done.
“Just playing the game, my brothers,” Ryan said, cool as anything, though inside he was bouncing like a five-year-old hopped up on sugar.
Mike led the way to the Grill’n’Shake and waited for the hostess. “We’d like a table,” he said when she appeared, “in
his
area.” Mike pointed at a scrawny kid laboring under a giant tub of dirty dishes.
“Marco?” the girl said. “He’s a busboy, not a server. This way.” She pinched three menus between her pink-clawed fingers and led them through a maze of tables to a booth in the back of the restaurant.
“We eating?” Ryan asked.
Mike scanned the restaurant. “We can eat,” he said, slapping his dad’s credit card on the table.
Ryan was fine with just a chicken sandwich and a Coke, but Mike and Drew ordered wings, a fried onion thing, potato skins, and two chicken sandwiches each.
“A growing boy’s got to eat,” Drew said, winking at the waitress. She rolled her eyes in response.
While they ate, Mike and Drew rambled on to Ryan about their conquests over the years. Ryan knew of Mike and Drew’s reputation for preying on the weak, but he’d had no idea how much time they devoted to their efforts. It was like every second they were off the field, they were at work on their latest target. They liked to study a kid, really get under his skin, then tear him apart from the inside.
“Remember when we caught VanEmburgh waxing his chest?”
“I had no idea that shit would actually rip his skin,” Mike said, holding his hands up like,
Whatcha gonna do?
With each story, Ryan found it harder to muster a laugh. If it weren’t for Thad, he might be on the wrong side of Mike and Drew’s equation and end up having his head dunked into a toilet for buying the wrong kind of chips.
“That brings us to Taco,” Mike said, swinging a thumb in the direction of the skinny busboy. “Dinged my car with his bike.”
Drew leaned in to Ryan. “We took care of the bike,” he said. “But the kid’s still got some pain coming his way.”
Taco—the hostess had called him Marco—did not look like he needed any more pain. His apron was wrinkled and dirty, and he looked like he’d been working all day without a break. Ryan knew that he should intervene, save this poor loser from whatever hurt Drew and Mike intended for him. But Ryan’s inner devil spoke the truth: Why stick your neck out for some kid you don’t even know, especially when it means driving off the only two allies you have in this place? Ryan kept his trap shut.
Mike and Drew loitered in the booth until the table next to them left and needed to be cleared. Marco had avoided their row since they arrived, but now he had no choice but to sling his empty bin over his shoulder and walk as bravely as possible into enemy territory.
“What’s up, Taco?” Mike said, turning in his seat and draping his arms over the seat back.
The kid didn’t even flinch. “I’ve got bigger problems than you,” he said. He dumped a soda into the bin, then stacked the plates and slid them on top.
“I highly doubt that,” Mike said.
The kid snorted—laughed, even. Ryan wondered if perhaps the guy had lost his mind from being overworked.
“Someday soon, Richter,” Marco said,
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