104
“Good afternoon.” A man in a suit and tie had materialized at my elbow. Jason was with him.
“Hello,” I said warily.
“I am the manager. Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.
Was this a trick question? “Well, I don’t think so,” I said. “Unless the kitchen is out of something we ordered.”
“Yes, well,” said the manager. “You seem to have ordered an unusual quantity of food. We wouldn’t want to be wasteful with it, or present you with a shocking bill because your eyes were bigger than your stomachs.” He gave a small artificial laugh.
“Well, that is just so sweet of you,” I said, close to my breaking point. “But we’re pretty hungry. It seems like we should just order and get what we ordered, you know?”
This didn’t go over as well as you would think.
The manager took on a look of forced patience. “Perhaps you would be happier in some other restaurant,” he said. “Broadway is nearby.”
I couldn’t believe this. “No freaking duh,” I snapped, finally losing it. “But we’re in this one and we’re hungry. Now, I have the money, we brought our appetites with us; are you going to give us what we ordered or not?”
The manager looked like he had just sucked on a lemon. “Not, I believe,” he said, signaling to a burly guy loitering by the doors.
Great, just great. I rubbed my forehead.
“This is stupid,” Iggy said angrily. “Let’s just split. Gasser, we’ll go someplace that isn’t run by Nazis, okay?”
“Okay,” said the Gasman uncertainly.
Angel looked up at the manager. “Jason thinks you’re full of hot air and that you smell like a sissy,” she said. “And what’s a himbo?”
Jason stifled a choking sound and turned red. The manager turned to glare at him.
“Fine,” I said, standing up and throwing my napkin down. “We’re going. The food’s probably lousy here, anyway.”
That was when the cops showed up.
Who called the cops?
Were they real cops?
I wasn’t planning to stay around and ask them.
105
Remember how the kitchen was going to provide a useful escape route? That would have worked great if the cops hadn’t split up, two coming in the front, two more coming in through the—you guessed it—kitchen.
All around us, tables of people were staring openmouthed. This was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to them all week.
“Up and away,” Fang said, and I nodded reluctantly.
Nudge and Iggy looked surprised, Gazzy grinned, and Angel got that determined look on her face.
“Right, kids,” said a female cop, weaving her way through the tables. “You have to come with us. We’ll call your folks down at the station.”
Jason shot me a superior smile, and suddenly I was furious. How hard would it be for someone to cut us just one break? Without stopping to think, I snatched up the bowl of olive oil and upturned it on his head. His mouth opened in an O as pale green oil streaked down his face.
If that surprised him, what happened next would rock his world.
Moving fast, as only a mutant bird kid could, I jumped up on a chair, stepped onto our table, then threw myself into the air, snapping my wings open and pushing down hard. I dropped alarmingly toward the ground—hadn’t had a running takeoff, which is always best—but surged upward again with the next stroke and rose toward the high raftered ceiling.