Sour Grapes

the traffic.
    So far, they hadn’t killed anyone, but during the last holdup they had shot a cashier and destroyed the kid’s right arm. Definitely bad guys... quickly getting badder.
    “Oh yeah,” she said. “I’d bet they’re our buddies. And us here with I-Ain’t-Jeanette and the salad bar cleaner-upper...”
    Her voice trailed away as one of the males, carrying an enormous boom box, walked by their table on his way to a booth in the back corner of the room. He sat down, feeing forward, set the box on the table in front of him, and turned on what Savannah called “rap crap,” drowning out Glenn Frey and causing Savannah to hate him with all her being.
    “He’s mad-doggin’ me, big time,” Dirk said. “Sizin’ me up.”
    “Yeah, the guy at the door is checking us both out and keeping an eye peeled on the parking lot. What do you wanna do?”
    “Bust ‘em?”
    “Yeah, right. Duh... six to two are pretty lousy odds. I don’t mind getting you and me killed, but if anything happened to sweet little Ain’t-Jeanette, I’d never forgive myself.”
    “I guess you’re right. Maybe if I just whip out my badge, it’ll scare ‘em away.”
    Savannah raised one eyebrow. “Hey, that’s a possibility. Not you pullin’ it out, but me. Remember what we did to distract those yahoos in Chat-n-Chew Café a few years back?”
    “Yeah, but there were only three of ‘em, not a roomful.”
    Savannah saw two of the other guys take seats in the front comer booths. The girl sat down beside one of them, a soft drink in her hand. She gave Savannah an icy, bitter look that belied the softness of her youthful
    face.
    Savannah ’s anxiety barometer rose a couple of notches; she and Dirk were now effectively surrounded. “Well, we gotta do something fast,” she said. “They’ve taken positions. It’s going down.”
    She reached under the table and tapped him discreetly on the knee. “Pass me your badge.”
    “Ah, man... how come you get to be the cop?”
    “‘Cause I’m the girl, and they won’t get as shook up if it’s me. Now give me the tin.”
    Reluctantly, he slipped his hand inside his jacket, then handed her the badge under the table. “It’s not tin; it’s gold... and you’d better not get any bullet holes in it.”
    She glanced around warily as she slid the thin, leather folder inside her sweater. “I’ll try not to.” Then, louder, she added, “I’m gonna make a trip to the salad bar. Want anything?”
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the leader of the entourage tense and lift his left hand slightly. The others froze, their eyes darting between him and the booth where she and Dirk were sitting.
    Dirk used the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at the front of the restaurant, the salad bar, and the players in their drama. “Yeah,” he said with studied nonchalance, “nab me some breadsticks.”
    “Breadsticks comin’ up.”
    Slowly, she stood and strolled up to the stainless-steel bar with its fake stained-glass canopy. The teenage, male employee had just finished covering the last metal canister and loading it on a cart with the others. All that remained was melting ice, strewn with bits of lettuce and other veggie castaways. He didn’t look happy to see her.
    “I’ve got everything put away,” he said. “We’re closing, you know.”
    “No, I didn’t know,” she replied, walking up to him and standing as close as she could without arousing the suspicions of the gangsters nearest her, about twenty feet away. “And I want some chocolate pudding.”
    “We don’t have no pudding,” he said, swabbing at the stainless-steel edge of the bar with a soggy rag. “And even if we did, I told you, we’re closing.”
    Savannah took a couple more steps toward him, until they were nearly nose to nose. “I said... I want pudding. And I know you’ve got some in the kitchen.” She jabbed his chest with her forefinger for emphasis. “You get back there and fetch it for me. I’m suffering from PMS and I need my friggin’ chocolate fix. You hear me?”
    The kid’s eyes bugged slightly. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I’ll see if we’ve got some.”
    As he started to walk away she whispered, “Stay back there. Both of you.” He looked confused. She raised her voice. “And if you come out here without that pudding, mister, you’re takin’ your life in your hands!”
    She lingered at the salad bar, checking out a shriveled radish, floating in the watery ice, until she