Max Guevara could snap a full-grown sumo wrestler in two without breaking a sweat. She could lift a sofa with the ease that you and I lift a can of Pepsi. And if you think Mary Poppins is the only one who can fly, then you obviously haven't seen Max leap over an electric fence.
Determined, tough, and hungry for action, Max was about to take on one of the most daunting tasks of her post-Manticore career. But she was ready. She had planned, sketched maps, and gone through tactics. She was uncharacteristically anxious, but she had promised Logan she would do this.
Grocery shopping.
Sure she could break into top-secret laboratories and burglarize national museums, but put Max Guevara in a Shop Rite and she was quivering in her boots. The clanking metal carts, the battling over Butterball turkeys, the droning of the voice over the intercom—everything about grocery shopping made Max downright nervous, tough-girl image aside.
"There better be a crème brulee in my future, Logan Cale," Max muttered to herself as she sidled through the sliding electric doors. She reached for a basket as she entered, choosing to avoid the usual atrocities of carts.
Feeling uneasy under the bright, fluorescent lights of the store, Max headed straight to aisle five for the olive oil and the breadcrumbs. She didn't need to unfold the shopping list from her back pocket—she had already memorized it backwards and forwards and had planned her route through the crowded aisles.
Quick and easy, Max thought. I'll be out of here in no time.
And aside from a brief altercation with an old woman over a can of creamed spinach, Max managed to make it to the checkout counter without trouble. Eyeing the racks of tabloids and sugar-free gum suspiciously, Max quickly unloaded her basket and prepared to pay for her hoard of food. She didn't bother looking up at the store clerk. She didn't feel like small talk.
"Hey there, Maxie," said a familiar snide voice from behind the counter. "What's cookin?"
Greeeat. "Since when have you graced the Food Lion with your employment?" she replied acidly. Of course Alec had to show up when she was so close to escaping this ten-aisle torture chamber.
"Just started today, actually. Guy's gotta make ends meet, if you know what I mean," Alec retorted smugly. He made disgusted face as he scanned and bagged a raw fish head. "Blek. What's with the carnage?"
Max ignored his question. "Yeah? Then why don't you just rob a 7-11 or something? Isn't that more your style?"
"Oh, Max," he put on a look of innocence, "You know I'm not like that. I'm a proud bagger of fish heads for this esteemed establishment."
Max rolled her eyes. He was probably pillaging food from the storeroom and eating free hoagies from the deli. "Whatever, Alec. If you could hurry it up a little, I got places to be."
"Yeah, yeah. Your total is $53.27."
Max grabbed her bags and headed for the exit. Finally. Alec had been the last person she'd wanted to run into when she just wanted to get out of—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Max froze in the exit as the alarm sounded all around her. She sighed and put down her bags. That idiot Alec probably hadn't scanned her stuff correctly and now she was making the alarm go off. Wonderful. Just what she needed.
"Excuse me, ma'am," an official-looking manager came striding toward her, "Did you pay for those items?"
"Yeah I paid for these items. Ask him," she said, pointing to Alec for backup.
Alec just shrugged his shoulders at the manager and gave Max a mischievous smile. That bastard.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the manager said authoritatively, hands on his hips and everything. Like she couldn't kick his ass.
Max was about to tell this sucker off and argue her case, but she decided it wasn't worth it. She just wanted to get out of there. Plus, she would come back after hours and lift the stuff. After all, she had paid for them.
She turned to leave, empty-handed, when the Beep! Beep! Beep! started up again. What the hell? She wasn't even carrying anything.
"Ma'am," the manager began anew, "I'm going to have to ask you to remove your jacket and empty your pockets. This store has a very strict policy on shoplifting, so I suggest you turn over anything you're trying to steal before we decide to press charges."
"Look Mr., I don't have anything on me—
"Not according to this," the manager had popped open a little digital box near the alarm system. "332960073452 is the barcode of item that you are attempting to shoplift. That would be a family-sized bag of barbecue-flavored Munchies potato chips. I demand that you turn over the Munchies."
332960073452? That was her barcode number! Apparently the alarm system had picked up the barcode on the back of her neck. And she was the same number as barbecue-flavored Munchies??
"Munchies?" Max spat, incredulous.
"With a barbecue-flavored kick," the manager said.
She could hear Alec cackling from across the store.
"I'll give you a barbecue-flavored kick!!" She was pissed off beyond control now, so she took the manager out with one well-delivered kick to the chest. Then she picked up her bags and stalked out of there, raging. Barbecue-flavored Munchies? Great. As if her life wasn't screwed up enough, now she had to share her identity with a bag of potato chips.
Max knew that she would never return to the Food Lion, whether Logan begged her to go or not. But at least neither could Alec. He found out that night that he shared his identity with pork loin.