Crybaby Boy

Chapter Seven - It's a Mad (Tea) Mafia Party and I'm Invited

Chapter Seven - It’s a Mad (Tea) Mafia Party and I’m Invited

“Only a mad man would believe that….  No, make that a hopeful man.  Hope can be a very blinding thing.”

- Jon Mason

I hate hope, it only brings me down more.  Like just now.  I thought we were going to be at dinner alone, but Peyton had to put the lid on my pot and whisper in my ear.

            “Don’t talk much, and when you do, let me do the talking,” she ordered.

            Silly cunt.  First chance I get I am going to slip out some window.  Thanks for making me memorize the layout of the place.  I’m sure she’d be mouthing some obscene words to me if she knew what I was thinking and if she had her mask off.

            Oh Peyton, I know you too well.

            We followed Robe into the restaurant section of the building and passed tables at which groups were casually chatting.

            Peyton wobbled over and I could have sworn I heard her swallow hard.

            “Kristin,” Robe nodded a greeting at her.

            “Why isn’t he wearing a mask?” I asked, waving in Robe’s general direction.

            “Because I’m with Meester Dwhite.  This way, everybody knows not to mess with,” he looked over the tops of his tinted glasses at me, the look in his eyes not exactly unfriendly, but sure as fuck not welcoming.

            We proceeded deeper into the restaurant, past tables and all the way to the back in a separately walled off section.  A large table was in the back, perfectly secluded and for not being overheard by interested ears.

            Meester Dwhite, who was still donning his clown-like attire, gave Peyton and me--or perhaps just Robe--a smile.

            “The Blackbird,” he waved us over.  “I see you got the package I sent.  I assume Peyton informed you about the no faces policy, am I right?”

            Brain fart!  All I could manage to do was give a nod… because had I opened my mouth, I’d probably be shot on the spot, and I didn’t want that, but the first words out of my mouth would have been something horribly stupid.

            To assume is to make an ass of you and me! my mind screamed.  We’re both fucking ASSES!

            I bit my tongue, drawing blood.  I could have dropped to the floor in relief when Peyton took over with talking.

            “Yessir, I did,” she bobbed her head.

            “Just in case you didn’t know, I had you come five minutes earlier than the rest.  Have a seat children.”

            When neither Peyton not I dared to move, his gaze hardened.

            “Blackbird.  Kristin.  Come here.  Take a seat,” his lips barely moved when he uttered those words, each like a cold steel blade stroking the bottom of my chin, each stroke raising hairs on the back of my neck and goose pimples on my arms.

            Peyton moved, elbowing me inconspicuously in the side, prodding me into action.

            I took the nearest sear, which was as far away from Meester Dwhite as I could possibly sit, yet somehow it seemed it was not far enough.  The chairs were really soft.  And I mean really.  If I were selling chairs like these, I’d sell them for a thousand or so big ones a pop.