Shark of Spades

The Newcomer

I eventually managed to convince Jack to boil some noodles (and by convince, I just mean that I stared at him for an obscenely long time until he finally winked and got up, not acting upset, just amused) and  was just starting to grow an appetite when there was a knock on the  door. Immediately, my eyes met Jack's.

Did anyone follow us?

No, we both confirmed.

So then who is it?

I eyed Jack, a look void of suspicion, all business and no time for blame. When you were out last night, is there any chance that someone put a tail on you?

He shook his head.

I gripped my gun a little more tightly and nodded at him. I'll deal with this. Go back to your pasta. He smirked and obediently stirred the noodles, barely giving me half a glance.

Stopping myself from rolling my eyes, I walked to the door, slow steps, deliberate steps and put my hand on the doorknob. I flicked the lock  with my thumb and opened the door, my expectations ranging from  solicitors to politicians to someone from the underworld, wearing all black, dark sunglasses, and holding a gun in a loose hand, indicating ease and familiarity. A definition of myself, if I may claim as such.

So when I opened the door and my eyes locked on the visitor's, I was hardly astonished to see the newbie from the game,  standing there comfortably like he owned the doorstep.

Without showing any recognition, I simply shut the door. A great plan, I know, but it was ruined because when I sat back down at the table, shrugging in response to Jack's curious expression (enunciated by elegantly poised eyebrows), another knock sounded on the door. He narrowed his eyes at  me, so I shrugged indifferently in that innocent way that people of my  true gender have and went back to open the door again.

With  absolutely no inflection in my voice, I opened the door wider and said, "It's pasta night." I left the door open and walked back to the  kitchen, confident that he'd either shut the door or follow me in and  shut the door behind him (because the main issue revolved around the door, naturally). Sure enough, he appeared in the kitchen seven  hesitant seconds later.

"You shut the door behind you, right?" I asked carelessly.

"Of course he did. Don't treat him like a total imbecile." Jack spoke to the newcomer without taking his eyes off of the pasta he was stirring. "He doesn't mean to patronize you. We simply don't want any strange  people breaking in on us."

"You realize that I'm here, right? I'm standing in your kitchen. You get that?" he asked, sounding slightly shaken.

"Who else would we be talking to?" I asked rhetorically, followed by Jack a second later, "It's fine that you're in here because we invited you in.  See the difference? It's fine if you break in with an invitation. It's  breaking in without sending us a greeting card that we find  undesirable."

The kid just stood there, waiting to catch his second  wind, only the forecast for the kitchen had recorded none. So he continued standing for half a minute, taking in oxygen the way a fish takes in water, and generally just trying to make sure the thing taking up space in his head was functioning in a similar manner to ours.

When  I got bored of watching him pointlessly emit carbon dioxide, I finally pushed out the chair opposite me with my foot. "We eat dinner sitting down in this kitchen."

So he slowly sat in the chair, staring at Jack's back (he had started humming a cheerful little tune by this  point) before diverting his attention to me. I watched as his mind  cleared, as his concentration - and by that, I mean whatever meager  focus had brought him here - intensified, and I could read his lips  before his thoughts had even articulated themselves.

"Aren't you worried?" he asked.

"Why would I be?"

"Because there's a stranger in your kitchen that you've only just met today, that's why. Aren't you worried that I'm dangerous or something?"

I  didn't even deign to meet his eyes, just looked at Jack, who took the question as a personal insult as well and had similarly turned to make eye contact with me. Our thoughts were the same. "Kid," I said, "I'm  pretty sure you're in more danger than we are."

He frowned and pulled out a gun similar to mine. "I'm armed."

"So what?" I asked, getting more and more ticked off by the brat.

His frown deepened, his way of expressing his confusion. "So I could shoot you or him, or I could kill both of you."

"And I could shoot you," I replied, not even bothering to show my weapon to him, and continued, "Besides, he could probably kill you with the pot of noodles faster than you could pull the trigger."

"Where's your gun?" the kid asked, and I restrained myself from glaring at him. Poker face, I chanted internally. This prick has just been sent as a test for your patience. Just a little bit longer...

Jack laughed, sensing my annoyance, and that irritated me more. As he drained the water, he said, "Kid, trust me on this one. You don't want  him pulling out that gun, because he'll be pocketing it before his hand even reaches it. Quick draw, he is."

"And I'd really hate to have to  clean this kitchen," I emphasized. "It's so nice and clean right now, and dead bodies are so much maintenance."

The Kid, as I now thought of him, looked a little pale before becoming angry and standing up, like he'd missed his cue and had just reread the flash card. "What's wrong with you two?"

Jack put the heaping bowl of pasta in the middle of the table, setting out bowls as well, so I helped myself to a serving,  with Jack taking a seat and doing the same.

"Sitting room only, remember?" I told Kid, starting to enjoy this just a bit. "Otherwise, no pasta for you."

"You freaking drive me insane," he muttered, glaring at me before plopping down heavily.

"Don't break the chair," Jack said before taking a bite.

"And who asked for your opinion anyway?" I asked Kid, resolving to ignore him and eat.

So Jack and I ended up eating dinner with Kid just sitting there, acting like we were the ones wearing straight jackets, like we had been the ones to break into his kitchen. Whatever.