hungrily took a few more puffs.
“We got a Playstation back there. Just hang out, man.”
Several hours passed. Tate smoked so much weed that he felt slow and bloated… and hungry. But the dumb bastards had only picked up two sandwiches, which were already gone. He rose and carefully walked to the fridge. He opened it to find two six-packs of beer. At least it was something. He grabbed a bottle and returned to the driver’s seat. The beer was warm since the fridge wasn’t on.
“Hey,” Hiapo said, “There she is.”
Sharon Miller stepped out of the house, and the man at the door watched her for a while. She got into her car, blew him a kiss, then pulled out. Tate ducked low in the seat and waited a few minutes before turning on the RV and following.
She seemed to be rocketing away from them, although she was probably just going the speed limit. Tate did his best to keep up, but he was so high that he was anxious whenever he hit forty miles an hour.
“Shit,” he said. “I’m too fucking high.”
“Let me drive,” Hiapo said.
Tate slid out and collapsed into the passenger seat as Hiapo took his place. Tate closed his eyes then felt sick, so he opened them and rolled down the window. Warm air hit his face as the RV sped onto the freeway, and he thought he might vomit.
They seemed to drive forever before arriving at a mall. They followed the car around and parked in a wide-open space. Sharon got out and hustled into the mall.
“I’m fucking sick ,” Tate said, opening the door.
“Where you going?” Sticks asked from the back.
“I don’t know. Food court. Get some Sprite or something.”
“Get me a Big Mac and some fries.”
“Fuck you. Get it yourself.”
“Don’t be a bitch. Just get it.”
Tate stumbled out , squinting in the harsh light. He reached into the RV for his sunglasses then flipped them on. The mall was large and flat. The largest mall in Honolulu, most of it was outdoors under a retractable cover. He stumbled through the parking lot and opened the doors. The food court was right inside. He staggered around until he saw a McDonald’s.
The line moved so slowly that he started counting the tiles on the floor. The next restaurant didn’t have a line, so he strolled over there and leaned against the counter, staring at the menu. When he felt somebody behind him, he glanced back and saw Sharon Miller standing there.
He snapped his head forward as the cashier came up to him . “What can I get for you?”
Tate looked at the first thing on the menu. “Um, a turkey and cheese and a Sprite.”
The clerk continued asking questions, and Tate answered, but he kept glancing behind him. Sharon was on the phone. She was, he decided, much hotter up close. His chest felt tight, and he was starting to sweat. He turned and marched out of the food court without getting his sandwich or drink, the cashier shouting behind him.
13
Several hours later, Tate was finally sober enough to drive. Sharon Miller spent the entire day shopping. By the time night fell, the RV was the last place any of the men wanted to be. It stank of weed, farts, and beer.
Tate leaned his head against the glass and let out a loud belch. His eyes shut, and he felt himself drifting off. Sticks had been passed out for a while, and Hiapo was doing something on his phone.
Tate felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted awake. He hadn’t realized he’d been sleeping. Hiapo stood over him. “She’s out.”
Hiapo took the driver’s seat, and the RV roared to life. It followed the car onto the freeway then headed back downtown. After a few minutes, they were in an upscale neighborhood a lot like the one they’d been to before. Then Sharon opened a garage and pulled her car in.
“Shit,” Hiapo said. “This is her house.”
Tate shrugged. “Let’s go , then.”
He walked to the back of the RV and kicked Sticks. The man snored louder and turned over. Tate pushed his head into the pillow until he
“We got a Playstation back there. Just hang out, man.”
Several hours passed. Tate smoked so much weed that he felt slow and bloated… and hungry. But the dumb bastards had only picked up two sandwiches, which were already gone. He rose and carefully walked to the fridge. He opened it to find two six-packs of beer. At least it was something. He grabbed a bottle and returned to the driver’s seat. The beer was warm since the fridge wasn’t on.
“Hey,” Hiapo said, “There she is.”
Sharon Miller stepped out of the house, and the man at the door watched her for a while. She got into her car, blew him a kiss, then pulled out. Tate ducked low in the seat and waited a few minutes before turning on the RV and following.
She seemed to be rocketing away from them, although she was probably just going the speed limit. Tate did his best to keep up, but he was so high that he was anxious whenever he hit forty miles an hour.
“Shit,” he said. “I’m too fucking high.”
“Let me drive,” Hiapo said.
Tate slid out and collapsed into the passenger seat as Hiapo took his place. Tate closed his eyes then felt sick, so he opened them and rolled down the window. Warm air hit his face as the RV sped onto the freeway, and he thought he might vomit.
They seemed to drive forever before arriving at a mall. They followed the car around and parked in a wide-open space. Sharon got out and hustled into the mall.
“I’m fucking sick ,” Tate said, opening the door.
“Where you going?” Sticks asked from the back.
“I don’t know. Food court. Get some Sprite or something.”
“Get me a Big Mac and some fries.”
“Fuck you. Get it yourself.”
“Don’t be a bitch. Just get it.”
Tate stumbled out , squinting in the harsh light. He reached into the RV for his sunglasses then flipped them on. The mall was large and flat. The largest mall in Honolulu, most of it was outdoors under a retractable cover. He stumbled through the parking lot and opened the doors. The food court was right inside. He staggered around until he saw a McDonald’s.
The line moved so slowly that he started counting the tiles on the floor. The next restaurant didn’t have a line, so he strolled over there and leaned against the counter, staring at the menu. When he felt somebody behind him, he glanced back and saw Sharon Miller standing there.
He snapped his head forward as the cashier came up to him . “What can I get for you?”
Tate looked at the first thing on the menu. “Um, a turkey and cheese and a Sprite.”
The clerk continued asking questions, and Tate answered, but he kept glancing behind him. Sharon was on the phone. She was, he decided, much hotter up close. His chest felt tight, and he was starting to sweat. He turned and marched out of the food court without getting his sandwich or drink, the cashier shouting behind him.
13
Several hours later, Tate was finally sober enough to drive. Sharon Miller spent the entire day shopping. By the time night fell, the RV was the last place any of the men wanted to be. It stank of weed, farts, and beer.
Tate leaned his head against the glass and let out a loud belch. His eyes shut, and he felt himself drifting off. Sticks had been passed out for a while, and Hiapo was doing something on his phone.
Tate felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted awake. He hadn’t realized he’d been sleeping. Hiapo stood over him. “She’s out.”
Hiapo took the driver’s seat, and the RV roared to life. It followed the car onto the freeway then headed back downtown. After a few minutes, they were in an upscale neighborhood a lot like the one they’d been to before. Then Sharon opened a garage and pulled her car in.
“Shit,” Hiapo said. “This is her house.”
Tate shrugged. “Let’s go , then.”
He walked to the back of the RV and kicked Sticks. The man snored louder and turned over. Tate pushed his head into the pillow until he
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