"Hm, seems like they're onto us," Malachi remarked casually as he read the headlines in the latest New York Times. I looked over and read the headline that screamed:

MRS. HANNBAL LECTER ON THE RUN; CHILDREN FLEE COUNTRY!

"Notice they didn't say what country," I said calmly, pulling out my nail file and beginning to work on my nails.

"Of course not. They have no idea where we are," he said, closing the paper and taking a sip of his bloody Mary. Malachi eyed an ad on the bottom of the page and sighed.

"Pity we had to flee the country. Wilson's is having a wonderful sale on gloves."

"Malachi, we're on our way to Mexico. You don't need gloves."

"Wouldn't hurt."

"Just for my own amusement, what's the current description of you and I? Are we back to being light haired and dark eyed? Or are we starting to look more like Mom these days?"

"Mm, actually, they're looking for a carbon copy of Dad this month."

"Jeneane Girafolo is going to have a problem this month, then."

"Some people think she has a problem already," he observed. "At least Mom got out ok."

"After the jettison, of course."

"Naturally."

"Think they'll ever catch on?" I asked, wondering if the Feds would ever actually catch up to us. Malachi scoffed.

"Don't be naïve, sister mine! We're on top of it," he assured me.

A small child sitting across from us stumbled over to his mother and whined, "Mommy, I'm going to be sick!"

"I despise small children," I muttered through clenched teeth. "Don't you?" Malachi smiled.

"No, I love children. They're very good with mustard."

I swatted him on the shoulder. "The last thing we need is to be apprehended as soon as we step off this plane," I reminded him. He looked at me innocently.

"I was just kidding. You know I can't eat something as high cholesterol as—"

"Drop it," I hissed, sticking my nose into a magazine, trying to become absorbed in it. A moment later I felt a little hand on my leg and I looked up to see the sick child staring at me.

"You have scary eyes," he told me in a timid yet belligerent voice. I scowled at him.

"You have no idea, kid," I growled at him. He looked a little surprised, turned green, and proceed to throw up all over my new Armani slacks. I screamed instinctively at being in contact with anything to do with something that came out of a kid, and jumped up.

"Why'd you do that?!" I demanded. The kid smiled nastily and said,

"Who cares? I feel better!"

 "Not for long, you little—"

"Patience, dear sister," Malachi whispered in my ear. "Don't draw attention to us."

"Don't-Wha-Don't draw attention? This child just puked all over me--"

"Stewardess? Could we have a few napkins? Thank you."

"I will never get the smell out of these slacks!"

"Perhaps some lemon water also? Yes, thank you."

I sat down in my seat, put my head in my hand, and thought to myself, "And I thought being a fugitive from the law was hard…"