Harrington 3

What Do You Do for Money Honey

"Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, where dreams die and I'm forced to man the register. How can I help you?"

"Do you even work here?"

"What part of 'forced to man the register' went over your head?" I ask the lady, leaning practically all my weight on the counter as I yawn hugely. I got next to no sleep last night, too busy thinking about the conversation with my father, and now Robin and Steve are making me sling ice cream while they wait to hear from Dustin, who is currently perched on the rooftop and gaining intel on the Russians.

The woman gives me a look before glancing down at the girl who grasps her hand.

"What would you like, Lacy?" She asks kindly, and I lean my head on my hand, throwing away the fourth thing of coffee flavoured ice cream I've eaten in hopes of it containing enough caffeine to wake me up. So far all it's done is leave a bitter taste in my mouth and make me even more grouchy than before.

"Everything!" Lacy exclaims, her pigtails bouncing as she giggles, a sound that makes me want to pull out my ear drums. Usually I like kids, but if this one doesn't give me an answer in the next minute, I just might throw Steve's scooper at her.

"Honey, you can't have everything," her mother says, obviously thinking her child is adorable for saying such a thing. I don't see it, "choose one flavour."

"Okay . . ." Lacy looks disappointed, but stares down at the different frozen colours before her and puts a small, pudgy finger on her chin, "Chocolate! No, strawberry. Can I get sprinkles? Wait, I don't want strawberry anymore. Can I get two scoops?"

"No, that's far too much sugar. Just one. How about caramel?" Her mother smiles, and I wonder how one person could ever have so much patience.

"No."

"Mint?"

"No."

"Rocky road?"

"Nooooo."

"Lemon?"

"No no no no!"

If there was melatonin stashed anywhere, I'd put it in this kid's cone. The back and forth continues as I fight the urge to tear my hair out and finally give up, quickly scooping a lump of chocolate on a waffle cone and shoving it towards the woman.

"That'll be one dollar and eighty five cents," I say, my voice monotone save for a dash of warning.

"But—"

"One dollar and eighty two cents, please," I say through grit teeth, and the woman hastily tugs out her purse, glancing at my expression and shoving a few coins towards me. I smack my hand down on them, the sound of my palm hitting the table making her jump as I slide her cash towards me and plunk it randomly into the register. She looks alarmed, and I'm grateful when she takes the cone and leaves, tugging her daughter along and telling me to keep the change.

I sigh as I close the machine and yawn again, turning to the back and seeing that Dustin is now back, pacing in front of my brother and Robin.

"That keycard opens the door, but unfortunately the Russian with this keycard also has a massive gun," he says, "Whatever's in this room, whatever's in those boxes, they really don't want anybody finding it."

"But there's gotta be a way in," Robin says as I lean on the counter, pressing my cheek against the cold surface and closing my eyes. Dustin snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I open my eyes to glare at him, wanting so badly to slap his hand away but not finding the energy.

"Well, you know," my brother says smugly, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "I could just take him out."

"Take who out?" Robin asks, raising her eyebrows as I snort in halfhearted amusement.