|
Kevin
Byrne
|
Running
to Home |
Chapter
5 - Shopping
Part
1
Bridget
woke to the sun shining through the trees. She felt
the wetness of the clothes clinging to her. Then she
sat up with a start. She realized Lesley was no longer
leaning against her. She had disappeared. Bridget
stood up quickly, cupped her hands around her mouth and
began shouting.
"Lesley, Lesley, where are you?" She was
desperate and concerned, worried about her companion even
though she had only known her for three days. She
heard some brushes rustling to her left. She turned
and watched Lesley come into view adjusting her soaked
jeans.
"Sorry, I had to get up," she apologized.
Bridget gave a sign of relief. She started shivering,
realizing that the cold, wet clothes in the cool morning air
was affecting her. She looked closely at Lesley and
noticed that she was shivering as well and her lips had a
hint of blue. "We got to get out of these wet
clothes," she declared
Bridget knelt down and opened the back pack, looking for dry
clothes. But to her dismay, everything in the back pack was
wet. The map of Denver was ruined, falling apart in
her hands. She suddenly thought of her disc
player. She frantically pawed down to the bottom of
the back pack and latched on to it, hauling it out for
inspection. The outside of the player was damp.
She opened the battery case. It was dry.
"Why
are you checking out that disc player?" Lesley asked
from behind her. "Break out the dry
clothes."
Lesley turned to look at her. "Everything's
wet. We're stuck with what we have on. We have
to go somewhere to dry all the clothes out. Then we have to
get out of the stuff we have on before we get
hypothermia."
Lesley shivered more violently and nodded at the truth of
Bridget's analysis. "Get any ideas on where to
get dry?"
"Let's go back to the church we stopped at last
night. Maybe they can help." Bridget stood
and hoisted the back pack on. It felt heavier from the
weight of the wet clothes. "We better get
moving. It might warm us up some."
Bridget led the way back to the trail, Lesley following in
her wake, trying to cuddle herself for warmth. As they
come out of the woods, the girls noticed the morning mist
rising from the grass. The park and the streets looked
empty. Bridget glanced at her watch. "It's
six in the morning. Not many people up. I hope
someone is at that church." Lesley gave no
response. She just shared in that hope.
The girls walked as rapidly as they could, hampered by the
cool of the morning and the thoroughly wet feeling of their
clothes. They reached the social hall of the church,
only seeing a few cars on the road, and a older male jogger
running on the opposite sidewalk. Bridget knocked
hard, out of desperation. She paused and listened for
reaction. She heard nothing. She pounded again,
keeping up a loud steady pulse on the door. Finally it
opened. The woman who had met them last night
appeared. "Sorry we don't start serving breakfast
until seven. Try to
come back ....." The woman paused and looked
horrified as she noticed the girls soaked to the skin,
splattered with mud, shivering almost uncontrollably.
She opened the door wider. "Get in. We got
to get you taken care of."
The girls entered, grateful for kindness. "You
girls are soaked. Were you caught in that thunderstorm
last night?"
Lesley answered. "We were stuck outside all
night."
The woman was surprised. "You're lucky you didn't
get sick from exposure. Ok, now let's get you two out
of those wet clothes. We have two showers in the
ladies' bathroom. You can get out of those wet clothes
there and I'll bring you some dry ones. We have some
donated clothes for emergency cases. It looks like you
two qualify. What sizes are you?"
Bridget responded promptly. "I'm a
four." Lesley thought a bit and remembered the
sizes of the outfits she had worn in concerts.
"I'm a six, I think."
"All right girls," instructed the young woman,
"hit the showers. I'll take your clothes and run
them through the dryer we have in the basement."
Bridget took off the back pack and held it out to the
woman. "Could you take care of the clothes in
here too? They all got soaked."
The woman relieved Bridget of her burden and opened the back
pack. Her head bobbed back as she got a whiff of the
contents. "I think I better run everything
through the washer first. These clothes are smelling a
bit ripe. Follow me." The woman turned and
led the way down a hallway. The girls glanced at each
other, smiled, and then gratefully followed.
A half hour later, Lesley was standing at the sink of the
ladies' room, using a handy blow dryer to try to dry out her
passport which had been in the pocket of her
sweatshirt. She had retrieved it before the damp
clothes had been taken away. She knew that she had
been lying to Bridget about who she really was. She
was beginning to trust her, just a bit. But she did
not feel it was the time to come clean about her full
story. Still, it felt good to be clean, to be wearing
warm dry clothes that weren't a trifle too small.
Bridget came up, drying her hair with a towel, sharing in
the luxury of warm, dry clothes. She looked at Lesley,
curious at her activity. "What are you
doing?"
"Trying to dry my passport. There, I think that
should do it." Lesley hurriedly stuck the
passport in the back pocket of the jeans she had on, trying
to keep Bridget from looking at the name on it.
"Could you hand me that blow dryer?" Lesley
handed it over, silently grateful over Bridget's concern for
her appearance, not the passport. Bridget brushed her hair
out with her hairbrush which the woman had thoughtfully left
behind. "There, done. Now, let's eat."
Lesley led the way out of the bathroom. The scent of
bacon drew them to the kitchen. There, they found the
young woman giving some of the older ladies instructions on
preparing breakfast. The young woman glanced over and
saw the girls standing there, almost salivating at the food
being prepared.
"Ruth, could you throw a couple of plates together for
these girls?"
A taller, older woman, cooking scrambled eggs,
answered. "Sure thing, Sharon." Ruth
looked over at the girls and smile broadly. "You
girls hungry?" Both nodded. "We're
famished," declared Lesley.
"Out here girls," said Sharon. "We'll
get you set up before the regular crowd comes in. She
held the left hand kitchen door open for the girls to go
back out. She followed with Ruth behind, holding two
plates with bacon, eggs, toast and hash browns. The
girls picked out a table near the door and sat. Ruth
set the plates before them and fished out silverware stuck
in a pocket of her apron. The girls muttered a thank
you as the silverware was placed to the right of each plate.
Then, as Ruth headed back to the kitchen, they grabbed the
forks and started shoveling in the food. They barely
noticed as Sharon sat with them.
"Slow down girls. You don't have to inhale
it. It's not getting taken away." The girls
smile sheepishly and slowed their attack on the food.
"That's better," Sharon commented. "Now
let me get your stories."
Bridget
exchanged glances with Lesley. Lesley then looked back
at her plate. Bridget took that as a sign that she
should do the talking while Lesley kept quiet.
"I'm Doris Richardson and this is my cousin Laurie
Davidson. We were trying to get a bus ride home but we
lost our money so we couldn't afford tickets. So we've
been doing to panhandling and hitting free meals and
shelters until we get enough to buy the tickets."
Sharon nodded as she listened and then looked Bridget
straight in the eye. "That's a good story.
However, I don't believe it."
"God's honest truth ..." Bridget protested but
Sharon cut her off. "I'd prefer if didn't try to draw
in God to back up your lying." Bridget clamped her
mouth shut, shamed into silence.
Sharon looked at both girls. "I think you're both
runaways. I want to help."
Bridget decided to respond with a bit a the truth.
"You're right. We both ran away from abusive
homes. I was in the foster care system. Lesley just
ran from some guy who was taking her around the
countryside, We're both trying to get to New York to
get a new start."
"Are Doris and Laurie your true names?" asked
Sharon.
Lesley and Bridget again exchanged glances. Then
Bridget gave the answer. "No, but we don't want
to give our real names because we don't want to go
back." Bridget did not notice how Lesley winced
just a little at her statement.
"You know how dangerous a big city can be for a teenage
girl?" warned Sharon.
"I know enough to stay away from drugs, alcohol and
pimps," answered Bridget, somewhat heatedly.
"I've had enough experience to know what to stay away
from. I can take care of myself and my friend
besides." Lesley brighten inside. She beamed to
know that Bridget referred to her as a friend.
Sharon looked at the girls searchingly, pondering her next
action. "I should just get the police to take you
girls in." The girls looked at each other,
horrified at the idea. "But I'm not going to do
that," Sharon added. "It's against my better
judgment but I'll let you girls get on your way. But
first, I want something from the two of you."
"Anything," Lesley said in gratitude.
"I'm sure you girls are low on funds. I want you
to help serve the homeless people who come in this
morning. Once you finish serving and helping in the
clean up, I'll give you $20.00 each. That should give
you a start on raising bus fare."
"That sounds fair," said Bridget.
Sharon rose from the table. "Finish your food and
then bring your plates back to the kitchen. We'll get
you aprons and have you work the eggs today."
The girls nodded in agreement as they finished off the last
of their food. Bridget knew that they were being
overpaid. But she was willing to accept the charity in
exchange for some honest work. Lesley also was ready
to work. She would willing work at just about anything
if it got her closer to home.
__________________________
Agent Jason Myers of the New York office of the FBI sat
dejectedly in his cubicle. He was not looking forward
to seeing his boss this Monday. He was expected to get
a royal chewing out for mishandling his testimony at the
bank robbery trail the week before. The defense
attorney had turned him inside out and upside down until he
couldn't figure out what the right answer was suppose to
be. The guy had still been convicted but Jason figured
he hadn't done anything to help that, even though his hunch
on what bank was next had been on the money. He stared
into space, waiting for the dreaded summons.
Mike Amden poked his head into the cubicle. Jason
looked up figuring this was it. "Head over the
conference room The boss wants to brief a bunch of us
on a big case coming down. Sounds like one that media
going
to be all over."
Jason got up, relieved at the stay of the execution of his
reputation. He had only been in the FBI for two years but
had already gotten a reputation for his instincts. His
first courtroom appearance, however, had taken him down a
peg. When he entered the conference room, he already
saw almost 20 agents seated at the table or around the
walls. He picked a chair in the back of the room, hoping to
pass with no notice.
His supervisor, Dave Risotto, rose from the head of table.
The crowd of agents quieted down. "all
right folks, we got a touchy one that's going agency
wide. The operation will be based in New York, even
though the case came out of Los Angeles. Even stranger
is that we first heard about the case from Scotland
Yard." The crowd buzzed a little at the account
but Risotto held up his hand to quiet them again.
"Last Thursday night or Friday morning a English singer
named Lesley Patterson disappeared from her hotel room after
giving a concert. Her manager, a Mr. John Blondin, and
his assistant, Nigel Trask, checked her room Friday morning
and found her missing. They thought she might have
stepped out for breakfast so they waited around for a couple
hours since she had an album signing. After three
hours, they started driving around looking for her.
They did not get back into 6:30 p.m., Pacific time.
When they got there, they found a note under the door.
The note said she had been kidnapped and the kidnappers
wanted $300,000. The twist is that the ransom is to be
paid in New York even though she was snatched from Los
Angeles."
Becky Johnson raised her voice. "Any information on the
analysis of the ransom note?"
Risotto looked over at her. "The ransom note
consisted of words cut out from the Friday edition of the
Los Angeles Times. The lab people found no prints and
no DNA on the note. All right, to continue. Blondin
informed the Pattersons in England Saturday morning, which
was Saturday evening their time. The father apparently
sought advice from a friend who was a local cop. He
was put through to Scotland Yard and the Yard contacted
us. The State Department worked overtime to get their
documents together so they could get over here.
They're arriving at Kennedy later this afternoon.
Blondin and Trask will be getting into Kennedy about a half
hour ahead of them. When we contacted them, Blondin
stated they did not report the kidnapping because they
feared for Miss Patterson's life. The money has been
transferred by wire to Chase Manhattan. It came out of
Miss Patterson's trust fund since the parents don't have any
independent wealth. It will be held there, pending
further instructions."
John Transten spoke up. "Do we have a description
of Lesley?."
"Yes," responded Risotto. He picked up a
stack of papers lying in front of him and passed two
handfuls, one to each side. "We have a publicity
shot of her taken earlier this year. I've had to
convert these figures from metric so they're only
approximate. She is 5' 4" to 5'5", weight
about 100 to 110 pounds, brunette hair worn straight, hazel
eyes. She prefers to wear tee-shirts, jeans and
sweatshirts."
Mark
Timenson broke in. "Have they received any
further instructions yet?"
"Not yet. They have been instructed to register
at the Waldorf-Astoria and wait for further
instructions."
Timenson
smiled. "At least the kidnappers want them to be
comfortable while their uncomfortable." The
agents in the room broke into chuckles.
Risotto, unsmiling, continued. "Scotland Yard
also mentioned that the British tabloids apparently are
getting wind of this story. They'll probably be
publishing the story in afternoon editions. It will
probably one of the lead stories on the BBC. The U.S.
media will probably get the story very shortly. It
likely will be one of the lead stories on the nightly
newscasts."
Transten asked, concerned, "Won't that complicate the
situation?"
"Yes, it will," answered Risotto. "But
we'll turn that to our advantage. We will get Miss
Patterson's description out to the public and see if we get
tips on sightings. Our office will be the collecting
center for the tips since the Pattersons and the manager
will be here and the ransom payment instructions will come
here. You'll all get your
assignments later this morning. I'll be around to you
then."
The agents, sensing the meeting was over, began to leave the
conference room. Jason hung back, trying to avoid
notice. It didn't work. "Mr. Myers,"
ordered Risotto, "could I have a word with you?"
Jason, dreading the moment, stayed in the conference room
while the other agents left. Risotto patted a
chair. Jason sat in it while Risotto sat next to him.
"I understand you had a rough time in court last
Wednesday on the bank robbery case," commented Risotto
"Yes sir." Jason kept his answer short, as
he felt he should have in the courtroom.
"Well, don't worry too much about it," said
Risotto, "we got the conviction anyway."
Jason was surprised. Risotto continued.
"You're a good agent. In your two years here, you have
performed remarkably. You came up with the hunch on
where the next robbery would take place. You just had
some difficulty explaining your reasoning on cross
examination. William Vikofski is a good, up and coming
defense attorney. He didn't have much to work with but
he did the best with what he had. You just got caught
in the buzzsaw. We should have
prepared you better for the testimony. We just thought
the case would be pleaded out. We did not expect it to
go to trial until almost the last minute. Next time,
we'll do better by you."
Jason, humbled, muttered "Thanks, boss."
Risotto went on. "I know Vikofski came across as a
wiseass. However, he was just doing his job.
Guys like Vikofski get a bad rap for defending the
guilty. But that is how our system works. Even
the guilty deserve a lawyer. It keeps us on our
toes. After all, even though we usually get the
guilty, we occasionally make a mistake and get the wrong
person. It's takes people like Vikofski to keep us
honest."
"Yes sir," said Jason to the constitutional law
lecture.
"Myers, I'm giving your assignment first. Once we
get the information out on Miss Patterson, we're going to
get a ton of sightings and tips. I want you to serve as the
clearing house for those tips. You are to evaluate
them, sort the incredible from the reasonable. I want
you to see if there are any patterns that we should follow
up. You have an intuitive sense on what to look for
and I want to you to use that on this case. Think
you're up to it?"
"Yes sir," answered Jason. "Thank
you. I'll do the best job I can."
"That's all I can ask," said his boss.
Part
2
Bridget
and Lesley stepped off the bus at the shopping mall.
Lesley declared, "It certainly was nice for Sharon to
give us enough change for bus fare."
Bridget, contemplating their next step, responded, "It
certainly helped in getting us to the next step of making
you look 18."
"Just
how to you propose to age me three years on just a bit less
than $40.00?" queried Lesley
"Patience, young lady, patience. We're going to
do it for less than $30.00 since we're going to get lunch
first. It's going to be a while until that kareoke
contest. We might as well eat now so we're not too
famished when we leave here. We might have to get away
quick if we can pull off what I'm planning."
"Are you going to break some more commandments?
I'm not too keen on that approach," said Lesley,
warily.
"You got to break some eggs to make an omelet,
Lesley. And we are going to make you into a winner
tonight so we can have some omelets in New York come
tomorrow night." Bridget led the way to the mall
entrance.
"I just have a bad feeling about this," cautioned
Lesley as she followed in Bridget's wake.
The girls first consulted the directory, looking for the
food. They located the eatery of several fast food
places and head straight for it. The smell of the food
was glorious to their teenage souls. Lesley
immediately head for pizza, getting two large slices with
pepperoni. She got bottled water to balance her indulgence
with virtue. Bridget opted for a cheeseburger with
fries and a soft drink, indulging in the fat and sugar she
so rarely got. Lesley polished off her pizza and wiped
her mouth to get the last of the tomato sauce. Bridget
gave off a belch of satisfaction, gaining Lesley's laughing
disgust at the display.
"Now that we've fed our faces, we must exercise our
minds on how to get the best bargains," announced
Bridget. Once again hoisting the faithful back pack,
Bridget ventured out to the passages of the mall, Lesley
next to her. She guided Lesley to one of the
department stores in the mall, the center of bustle and
commerce. The entrance Bridget picked contained the
usual perfume and makeup counters, the latter of which
Bridget sought out to begin Lesley's aging process.
She walked up to a makeup counter and started looking at the
makeup samples displayed there. Lesley stood beside
her, wondering what Bridget was up to. Bridget kept looking
until she attracted the attention she was seeking from a
salesclerk. The salesclerk, who appeared young enough
to be working her way through college, came over.
"Do you need any help?" she asked.
"Oh, um, yeah. My friend here needs
help." Lesley started to back away but Bridget,
putting her left arm around her back, pulled her
forward. "You see, my friend has this hot date
tonight with a high school senior and she wants to look old
enough to go out with him. We thought some makeup tips
would help."
"Well," said the salesclerk with a professional
smile, "let's see what we can do. Why don't you
come set here?"
Lesley reluctantly climbed into stool to which the
salesclerk had gestured. The salesclerk then proceeded
to apply the makeup as a demonstration. Lesley sat
patiently, having been through makeup more than a hundred
times for performances. The blush was applied.
The mascara, eye shadow, and the eyeliner were applied in
subtle shades to bring out her hazel eyes. Fine
details were attended to. Along the way, the
salesclerk explained what she was doing. Bridget stood
there, appearing enraptured, nodding her head as the
salesclerk made a point. Finally the lipstick was applied,
the finishing touch. Lesley looked in the hand mirror
that the salesclerk handed her. It job was very well
done. She appeared to be a little be older, a little
more mature. But
she was afraid she looked a little garish.
"Do I look like a tart?" she asked.
"A pastry?" answered Bridget. "You
think you looked like a jelly filled pastry.?"
"No, no," responded Lesley, looking over at
Bridget. "I just afraid I look a little too much like a
prostitute."
Lesley noticed a fleeting look of pain flash across
Bridget's face. She wondered at its cause. "No,
Lesley," stammered Bridget. "You still look too
nice to be a prostitute." Bridget turned abruptly
to the salesclerk, cutting off the conversation.
"Now, can she continue to look like this for several
hours?"
"The makeup is guaranteed to last up to 12 hours,"
the sales clerk replied. "Now do you wish to
purchase any of it?"
Bridget did some quick mental calculations and came up short
in the account of prices versus assets. "Can she
just continue to wear this around to test it out?"
"I'm sorry, I would have to insist that your friend
clean it off. We don't want to run a free makeup salon
here."
"How about if we buy a small case of the eye
makeup?" asked Bridget.
"I guess that would be okay. That would be $12.95
with tax." Bridget reached into her pocked to
pull out the money but Lesley was a little quicker.
She handed her money to the sales clerk who rang up the sale
and hand the small package to Lesley. Lesley
remembered her manners and thanked the clerk. Bridget
held up the back pack and Lesley stuck the makeup into one
of the outside compartments. They then walked away as
Bridget looked for the next stop.
"What's next,?" whispered Lesley.
"We get you a nice outfit for tonight," answered
Bridget.
"With less than $20.00? How are you going to pull
that off?" asked Lesley in astonishment mixed with
apprehension.
"Just watch and learned," replied Bridget
confidently. Lesley was not sure to wanted to know
where this was leading. Bridget lead her to the ladies
clothing department. "Size six you said?"
she asked Lesley.
Lesley only nodded. Bridget plunged into the racks,
checking out one outfit after another. She bounced
from rack to rack, looking, searching, rejecting, and moving
on. Lesley followed, unsure if she should.
Finally, after about 10 minutes, Bridget pulled out an
outfit and showed it to Lesley. "Do you think
this will work?"
It was a sleeveless blue top with sequin patterns with plain
dress pants in the same color. Lesley admired it,
thinking how good it would look on her. She then
gently grasped the price tag to have a look. "$259.00
American dollars? No way we can afford this," she
protested.
"C'mon.. Let's at least see how you look in
it." She handed the hanger holding the outfit to
Lesley. Lesley let out a little grunt of unwillingness
and then headed for the nearest fitting room. Lesley
entered but a sales clerk stopped Bridget. "You
can't take that back pack in there," she admonished.
"Oh yeah, thanks." Bridget took off the back
pack and placed it by the cashier's counter. "Can
I leave it here? My friend wants my opinion on the
outfit."
The sales clerk nodded. Bridget headed back, noting
that she and Lesley were the only ones in the fitting
area. Just then Lesley came out of a changing cubicle,
wearing the blue pants outfit. Bridget looked
carefully, judging its effect.
"Well how do I look?" asked Lesley.
"Not a day under 20," replied Bridget.
"That's nice but I don't know how we can get it,"
moaned Lesley.
Bridget stepped closer and began talking lower.
"One of the reasons I picked out that outfit was
because it was missing the security tag."
"So?" asked Lesley.
"So, you go back into the cubicle and put your other
clothes on over that outfit. They should
fit."
Lesley
was shocked. "You expect me to engage in
stealing?"
"Look," retorted Lesley. "We need the
money from that karaoke contest and you are our only hope of
getting it. And you're not going to get it unless you
looked the part of an older girl. We have to take this
chance."
"But it's just not right!" said Lesley, stomping
her foot.
"Ok, if it will make you feel any better, if you win
that competition tonight, we can come back here tomorrow and
pay for it." Bridget could tell that Lesley was
still reluctant. "Come on," urged
Bridget. "We've got less than four hours to make
it to that pub. You got any better ideas?"
"No," admitted Lesley, shamefaced at what she was
about to do. She turned and walked back into the
cubicle. In a few minutes she exited it again, wearing
the clothes given her that morning. Bridget studied
her appearance carefully. She knelt down at Lesley's
feet and rolled up the pants leg of the dress outfit so it
could not be seen peeking out of Lesley's jeans. She
stood again and looked carefully, making Lesley
nervous. "I think you better put your sweatshirt
on. The blue of that top just peeks out a bit through
that tee shirt."
Lesley slowly put on her sweatshirt and turned to look at
the mirror. She did not look very different from when she
entered. The outfit was not noticeable.
"Let's go, songtress. We have places to go and
things to do." Bridget headed for the exit of the
fitting rooms, Lesley at her heel. Bridget picked up
her back pack at the counter, smiled at the clerk you had
admonished her. "Thanks for keeping an eye on
it."
"You're quite welcome, young lady," replied the
clerk. Lesley reflected on the term and was thankful
that the clerk could not read minds. Otherwise she
would know that these two girls, though young, were not
acting like ladies. Lesley then noticed how Bridget
was attracting attention to herself, reducing the scrutiny
on the double
dressed companion. Bridget got the back pack on while
Lesley got beside her, on the side away from the
clerk. Bridget started walking again, heading for the
nearest exit and sunlight. Lesley tried to breathe
slowly, to calm her rising sense of panic and doom, of jail
cells and disgrace. The girls walked through the first
set of exit doors and then the next. No alarms
when off, no security guards came to accost them. The
girls paused and then Bridget head off across the parking
lot, heading for a grocery store.
"I didn't think we we're going to get away with
it." Lesley said, relieved of stress.
"I've pulled that scam a couple of times when I
was really needed some clothes for school," admitted
Bridget. "I would have tried it here but that
will be you up there singing, not me."
The girls entered the grocery store and Bridget looked
around from the door. She then turned to Lesley.
"There's a ladies room over there." She nodded off
to her left. She took off the back pack and handed it to
Lesley. "Take this into the restroom, get out of
that new outfit and stick it in here. It will lessen
the wear on that thing."
Lesley took the pack and headed for the ladies room.
In a few minutes, she was back, carrying the pack for the
first time. She spotted Bridget paying for
something. Bridget came over, showing Lesley a pair of
plastic thong sandal.
"What are those for?" asked Lesley.
"We couldn't get any shoes in the mall," answered
Bridget, "and you'll look ridiculous wearing tennis
shoes. The only alternatives are bare feet or some
cheap matching sandals. And believe me, you don't want
to walk through a bar in your bare feet."
Lesley sighed and took the sandals. "How much
money do we have left? "
"About $18.00. That gives us enough for taxi
fare."
"All right," said Lesley. "Let's get
this over with."
"That's the spirit," said Bridget, clapping Lesley
on the shoulder. "That's the spirit that made this
country great."
"But I'm not from this country,' retorted Lesley.
"I know," replied Bridget. "That's why
we kicked your butts in the Revolutionary War."
"You did not! We just got tired of putting up
with those whining taxpayers."
Bridget laughed and Lesley smiled. They left the
grocery store, arguing over history.
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Chapter 6 - Competition
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