“For breakfast?”
“Apple, if you have it.”
“Warmed up?”
“Nah.”
When she returned with the slice, the man held a gun aimed at her and was grinning like a
sugar skull Brenda had seen on a cable TV program about a holiday called the Day of the
Dead. Those skulls were meant to be eaten.
“Look, mister,” she said, “I don’t want no trouble. How about you have your pie and go?
My treat.” She set the plate in front of him.
The man worked his jaw like a cow chewing cud, then spit a mixture of