“I’m starving,” he said. “What do you want?”
There was a long line of people waiting, sweating and chatting, some sipping icy beers or Cokes they’d pulled from an open cooler. To the left of the wooden structure, a thick column of smoke rose from an enormous, greasy smoker, which was tended by a burly pitmaster. A middle-aged woman wearing a kerchief around her hair took orders at one end of the building, and a plump teenage boy worked the pickup window at the other. Off the pickup area, there was a big covered lot with picnic tables that must have been twenty feet long. People ate elbow to elbow, hunkered over trays of brisket and sausage and ribs.
“You never eat before a job,” she said.
“Look, I’m peckish,” he said. “How am I gonna focus if my tummy’s grumbling?” He ruffled her bristly hair and left her in the car. Kit didn’t like the sudden change of plan, but maybe she could waylay him here long enough to spoil the job. Nothing about this seemed like a good idea to her.
When he had disappeared into the end of the order line, she closed her eyes and willed her stomach to settle. It was hot in the car now that they had stopped. The smells of leather and lemons bloomed in the confined space, and barbecued meat smoke seeped through the windows. She fumbled with the door until it swung open, lurched toward a nearby trash can, and vomited. She felt some relief and rested her head on her forearms, waiting for a second surge. She gagged, but nothing came.
“How far along are you, hon?” someone said. A woman with ebony skin and short shorts, a child of three wrapped around her leg, held out a cup of ice water. Kit took the water and drank it in small, cooling sips. “Thanks,” she said to the woman. “Must have been something I ate.”
The woman smiled sideways, like she didn’t believe Kit. “I sure hope not,” she said, pointing to the man tending the smoker. “That’s my dad over there. People come from all over for his ribs. Wouldn’t look good if they knew he had served up funky meat.”
Kit didn’t know why she had lied, but she wasn’t in the habit of sharing secrets with strangers. She glanced at the line to see where Manny was, if he’d seen her.
“I haven’t eaten here yet,” she said. “I’m sure it’s real good.”
“It’s not good, baby,” the woman said, flicking the braids off her shoulder. “It’s the best.”
“Maya,” the woman said, touching her chest, and pointed to the boy at her side. “This is baby Ray. Hey, we have some cold ginger ale in the back. You want some? It’ll fix you right up.”
Kit wanted to get back to the car before Manny noticed she was gone, but she was still queasy, and ginger ale might be just the thing to settle her stomach. She followed Maya around the back of the building to the open kitchen door. Boxes of straws and napkins outside on a pallet and crates of onions, lettuce, and potatoes blocked half of the short hallway that led into the kitchen. A loud fan mounted to the ceiling blew warm air inside. It was so dark compared to the outside that she couldn’t see anything but Maya’s pink tank top and the open order window ahead of her. Before her eyes could adjust, she heard someone speak. At first it was hard to hear over the fan, but a few steps further and she knew it was Manny, cool and creamy.
“Easy does it, now. I’m in charge. Keep your head level and your eyes down, if you please.”
Kit blinked, shapes beginning to emerge from the dark room. Two figures by the window in the corner, one tall, the other short and plump. She could see Maya better now. She had stopped, behind a stack of crates, her son tucked behind her.
There was the sound of bubbling oil and the smell of something frying. Kit swallowed back a retch. A woman crying. Praying, maybe. Then Manny behind the woman, a gun held to her spine.
Not here, not now, Kit thought. She couldn’t believe he had started something without telling her, completely off script, with all these people around. There must be two hundred witnesses, who knows how many of them were armed. If he didn’t pull this off perfectly, it would be a bloodbath.
“That’s my mama,” Maya whispered.
Kit took Ray by the hand and spoke into Maya’s ear. “Back out slowly, and get your boy far away from here.” Maya clenched her eyes shut. She dipped down, scooped her boy up, backed toward the door, and disappeared.
Kit had to stop Manny. Maybe if she could talk him out of this, they could gag the lady and run out before anyone noticed. The counter was clear, for now, but wouldn’t be for long. She walked up to Manny.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed. Manny turned toward her but kept his gun aimed at Mrs. Stoker. “You start a job without telling me? I’m not even ready. The car is a hundred yards away, there’s people all over the place. How are we gonna get out of here now?”
Manny was swaying, and he stank of whiskey.
He smiled and squinted at her. “Don’t you tell me what to do.”
There was an order of ribs piled like firewood on a paper-lined basket. He took one and ripped off a shred of meat with his teeth. “I own you. I make the calls and you follow.” He pulled Mrs. Stoker’s printed kerchief off her head, mussing her hair, and handed it to Kit. “Throw a little gag on her now, she’s about to blow.” Mrs. Stoker, looking ready to faint, lowered herself to the ground.
“Fuck, Manny,” Kit said. She took the kerchief and squatted by the woman.
“Please, don’t scream,” she said to the crying woman, rolling up the kerchief. “I’m so sorry for the trouble. Listen to me: Maya and Ray are safe. You’re gonna be okay, too, y’hear?” Mrs. Stoker wouldn’t take her eyes off Manny’s gun. Kit pushed the gag into the woman’s mouth and tied it behind her head. She was hyperventilating, her hand clutched to her heart. Kit had never been so close to someone who knew they were being robbed. For the first time, she felt like a criminal.
There was a long prep counter, maybe fifteen feet of it, covered with cutting boards, knives, a half-sliced side of brisket, tubs of pickles and rounds of onions, a deep stockpot full of beans and another full of sauce. Next to it was a fry station with a basket full of dark, bubbling things, buoyant and smoking. Lying on the ground in front of it were two men, both bleeding from the head.
“Manny, what the fuck?” she said, pointing to the two men.
Manny made a face at Kit, mocking her outrage. “Manny, Manny—when the fuck you get so uptight about every goddamn thing. How am I supposed to rip this place off with two knife-wielding motherfuckers, huh?” He took a deep breath and let it out. “They’re just knocked out, okay? Little pistol-whip is all.”