by Karen Sims
Listen, it’s you, me, and Jojo. We’re going in, doing the thing, and getting out. Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy–Grilled Cheesy. You’ll be with me, Jojo will be in the getaway, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’ll do the heavy lifting. You just hold the gun and keep your cool. Deep breaths. Three in, four out, just like we practiced, just like we did for Panama. Remember how that went down without a hitch, smooth as Jack Daniels? This’ll be the same, Panama 2.0. You don’t even need to shoot, unless you need to. Just watch my back, and I’ll watch yours. It’s you, me, and Jojo, like always. Right Jojo? See that? Jojo’s chill. Cool as watermelon salad. It’s watermelon and feta and it sounds crazy but it’s delicious. Balsamic dressing. Crisp, crisp basil. I’ll make you one. We just get through this, then we’re in the clear. In. Out. Jojo in the car. Okay? Okay. Have the engine ready, Jo. We’ll be right back.
***
So it’s just you and me, now. That’s okay. We’ve got this. Forget Jojo. Should have shot him in Panama. But you and me, we can do anything. We can get out of this. We just gotta stay cool–watermelon salad, baby. Sometimes whisky’s got a kick. But listen, we got in, we did the thing, and we got out. Sure, you had to pull that trigger after all, but you fucking nailed it. You’re barely shaking anymore. We aren’t Jojos. We’re bonded. Blood Brothers–here, wipe that off–Moon Sisters–whatever. We didn’t need a rat like Jojo. Forget him. Who the fuck is Jojo? Plan B exists for a reason. We’ll wait it out, then I’ll cook for you. The watermelon this year is sweet as hell. We got this, right? Nod for me. Okay, good. Now, listen, we gotta run. It’s just gonna be a little bit longer. Just follow me, and keep your eyes glued to my head. And if your legs burn, keep ‘em moving. Just think of hitting Jojo with a car.
***
Weeeeeelllllll, fucccck you. Just like Jojo. Worse than Jojo. At least Jojo was always kind of shady. But you were my person, my ride or die, it was us forever. Now it’s just me. Sold out. And for what? To try and salvage a spent life, a chickenshit soul? Probably working with Jojo the whole time. Now I’m going away for some shit I didn’t even do. What did you tell them? That I pulled the trigger? That I forced you into it? Liar. We were safe. We had Plan B. Then you fucked it, you jittery shit. “I’m popping out for smoke,” you said. I should have known. It was always just me. And you know what? I’m glad. You’ll never know what real loyalty feels like. The cold, hard confidence of it. My beautiful watermelon salad. How crisp the fucking basil.
Suqi Karen Sims is a food writer and creative writing PhD student at Georgia State University, where she teaches composition and fiction. Her work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Heated, and Put A Egg On It, among others. She is an assistant editor for the literary journal Five Points, where she writes on food and literature. She also publishes under the name Karen Sims. Contact her through her website, suqikarensims.wordpress.com.