CHAPTER 8
After spending two and a half days wondering what the best date would be for us, I finally decided on something so incredibly overdone and cliché; a nice dinner for two at a romantic restaurant. I knew the perfect place; it was a few blocks away. Jimmy had mentioned the name once before, and when I asked his advice, it came to mind when he said 'romantic dinner'. He'd even been kind enough to 'accidentally' slip a credit card in my wallet (Pick pocketing works in reverse, too.) seeing as how I was poorer than his biological mom. She was so poor I'm surprised she was able to afford the gun to kill herself with.
On Friday night, I donned a navy blue suit of Jimmy's. If it weren't for Jimmy, I'd be horribly screwed, financially, and A) I had no fancy clothes and B) my clothes were all dirty anyway. I must have spent an hour straightening my tie just right and combing every last hair strand into place. Jimmy finally pushed me out, claiming that I had to leave soon if I was leaving at all. He didn't know which restaurant I was planning to go to, but he still knew I'd made a timed reservation. I stepped out and waited at the bottom of the stairs for my date, who was on the second floor of the warehouse getting ready herself.
When she came down, I had to keep my jaw from dropping and clunking on the warehouse floor. She was stunning. Her feathery hair was tucked back neatly over her elegant dress of dark red silk, which clung to her curves perfectly. Compared to my slightly faded attire, she was fashion epitomized.
"Hey," she said shyly. "You look nice."
"Thanks, you look incredible."
The door banged behind us as Jimmy ran off into the night. He'd never once told us where he was going in the evenings, but we figured it was a drug deal or something Jimmy-like. After all, his name is short for breaking in (jimmying).
"C'mon, let's go." Whatsername held her hand out tentatively and I took it. Nervously I led her out of the warehouse and onto the street. Because of the fact that the restaurant was just a few blocks away, I had forgone a taxi. We walked the short distance and I led her into the restaurant. The maitre d asked me name as we approached him, glancing in his reservation book.
"Armstrong," I said quickly.
Whatsername glanced briefly at me as the maitre d wrote in his book, and a porter-thingy-man led us to our table.
"That's not your surname, right?" Whatsername asked.
"I know. But I'm a missing kid, remember?" I explained.
She nodded in understanding. "Where's the waiter?"