Cinco de Mayhem by Ann Myers

Author:Ann Myers
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-01-26T19:00:00+00:00

Junior stepped into line at Don’s hot dog cart. He shifted from sneaker to sneaker, hands stuffed deep in baggy cargo pants pockets, shoulders twitchy.

Who’s that nervous about buying a hot dog? He had to have other motives. My heartbeat sped up as I got in line behind him. Lacking a disguise, I got out my cell phone, let my hair fall over my eyes, and pretended to text.

“Next dog fan, step right up!” Don boomed. “What’ll it be, pardner?”

“Whatever,” Junior mumbled.

“Yes, sir, frito pie fiesta, coming right up! Special of the day! Extra hot sauce!” Don responded, as if Junior had placed an actual order.

I dared glance up. Junior, like his dad, wore clothes a little too large. He tugged up a baggy shirt, dug in his back pockets, and extracted a folded manila envelope. Don handed over the dog, piled high with Fritos, chopped onions, and chili con carne. Junior, instead of paying, thrust the envelope at Don, dropped the hot dog back on the counter, and hurried away.

Don shoved the envelope under his counter and pushed the hot dog to the side. “Up next, what’ll it be young lady? Hot dogs for a hot—” He looked up, recognized me, and frowned before quickly recovering. “Ah, Rita, my favorite Midwest cowgirl. What can I get for you? Dog on the range? Chile-charged challenge?”

Junior was moving fast. He was almost to the other side of the Plaza. I didn’t have time to wait for a dog, and I certainly didn’t have time to eat one.

“Oh, darn it,” I said, patting my pockets. “I forgot my wallet.” I started to go.

“No trouble,” Don said. “Not for one of my favorite customers. I’ll spot you. Pay me in one of Flori’s famous chocolate muffins. Here, have some Fritos while you wait.” He tossed a packet of corn chips at me.

“Ah . . . I ah . . .” I stuttered, grasping for an excuse. I went with my real excuse. “Gotta go,” I said, leaving the chips by the Free Linda jar. I took off at a near jog, fearful of looking back.

Don’s voice followed at my heels. “Devil dogs! Who wants to dance with the devil?”

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