Elle Jones

Chapter 13: A Little Shop of Inspiration

After the confrontation with Second Avenue was over, Austin and I marched past Elinore Street and a dozen supermarkets until I started gagging the alcoholic stench from earlier.

"Jesus Christ!" I moaned. "What the fuck was that shit? It smells like Joseph's cooking!"

Austin, who was sighing at my displeasure, scolded: "well, maybe you shouldn't have dumped that bottle of whiskey on the pavement."

Coughing a few times, I glared in his direction.

"Maybe, you should stop being a pussy for once and grow some goddamn balls."

Austin raised his eyebrows at me.

"You're seriously giving me advice?" he baffled. "Jack, I can't even manage to throw a punch, or kick a soccer ball."

Although my ears deafen at the constant screeching of congested traffic, I managed to pick up Austin's constantly whining.

"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, " I grunted. "Clyde just called you a pussy back there."

"So what?" Austin groaned. "I am not as strong as you."

I gazed at him for a moment.

"I'm not strong, " I say, arguing. "I was lucky."

"You were lucky?" scoffed Austin. "No one had the balls to say that in their faces."

"Yeah." I snorted, kicking a nearby pebble with my feet. "It's a good thing Clyde and Skippy didn't carry guns because I would have gotten shot in the face."

"But they didn't," reminded Austin.

"Next time they will." I murmured. 

My messy hair bun quickly loosened by the swift breeze, but luckily, it didn't fell apart.

Noticing this, I thought about putting my hair into a casual updo, but because my hands felt lazy, I decided to do it when I get home.

Moving across the outskirts of New York, Austin looked at me then asked: "I know you hate this question, but since we have the jar, wouldn't be best if we return it to the police?"

Burying my hands into my pockets, I stubbornly shake my head no.

"Why?"

I wait for a gaggle of girls in chic fashion clothes walk by us, then resumed the conversation.

"Because Joseph is onto us," I explain. "This morning, he told me that he and his friends discovered tire tracks at the park."

"Tire tracks?" Austin repeated, completely shocked by my answer. "You mean my mom's—"

I nodded quietly.

Gritting his teeth, he asked: "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I didn't want you to add it to the list of reasons why don't want to go to Australia with me."

"Oh, now you tell me?" asked Austin in a pissed off tone.

Burying my hands into my pockets, I add: "Drastic times call for desperate measures, Austin. If we give the ashes to Warren, bad things will happen."

He looked at me in sheer confusion.

"What?" I ask, squinting my eyes in his way.

"It's desperate times, " Austin corrected.

"Huh?"

My friend released a sad sigh, then repeats in a condescending tone: "it's desperate times call for desperate measures, not drastic times. No one fucking says that."