Chapter 7, Heist
Nashville, Tennessee
They make a wrong turn somewhere near Johnson City and end up just outside of Nashville by nightfall.
"You can't make a wrong turn," Christopher tells him. "When you don't know where you're going." David rolls his eyes at this and requests a stop for food, because he can't live on Tylenol alone, and Christopher admonishes him by pulling into a small fast food place.
"Be right back," he says and darts into the restaurant. When he comes back out with two bags of the greasiest food the place offers, David is hobbling around the parking lot, stretching his legs and trying to get a handle on the crutches. Christopher approaches him with a smirk.
"You look like a raccoon on stilts."
David smiles a bit and shakes his head.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did," Christopher dead pans.
"All this," David presses on, gesturing with his crutches. "The cast, the brace, the ER? It cost money."
Christopher nods and strokes his chin, pretending to consider. "Yes, yes. Astute observation, Watson."
David shrugs his shoulders, ignoring the sarcasm.
"Where'd you get it?"
"I told you not to worry about the money, princess," Christopher grins and turns evasively back to the car. It's a few minutes before David can limp over and settle into the passenger seat. Christopher feels only slightly guilty about not helping him, but he needs those few seconds to think about what he's going to say.
"I didn't worry," David continues, once he's in the car, as if the conversation hadn't been broken. "But that was when you were only buying gas and food. I don't have insurance, but those nurses didn't even ask about it." He waits for Christopher to fill in the blanks, but the blonde continues to avoid his eyes, picking through the bags of food. "An ER visit had to have been close to a thousand dollars, at least."
"Two thousand, four hundred and thirty five," Christopher corrects quietly, ignoring David's wide-eyed awe.
"Where the hell did you get that?"
"I sort of borrowed it," Christopher admits.
"From?" David asks, not certain he wants to hear the answer.
"They Copy Shop," Christopher responds without hesitation, earlier plans of evasive lies forgotten. The truth is always the best option anyway, he thinks.
"Shit, Christopher," David breathes. "Back in Chicago?"
"Yea. Right before we left."
"How much?"
Christopher glances at David, wondering about the strength of his heart before answering.
"Almost six thousand."
"Six thousand dollars," David yells in disbelief, ignoring Christopher's motions to keep it down.
"They were asking for it," Christopher defends. "The door was unlocked, no security system, the combination to the safe was the same as when I worked there."
"Six thousand dollars," David repeats. "We're fucking felons." Christopher shakes his head.
"No."
"Yes," David insists. "Felons on the run. I can't believe you."
"I'll be Clyde," Christopher laughs. "You can be Bonnie."
"Just great," David mutters, chewing on his lip, though whether he is referring to the situation in general or his new feminine identity, Christopher can't be sure. "How much do you have left?" he asks.
"Enough," Christopher answers, distracting him from the actual amount. "Enough to get a hotel room tonight. Sleep in an actual bed. Stretch that knee out."
David has to admit, it's tempting. He'd been banging his casted knee against the dash all day, and the idea of trying to sleep with it in the car, not to mention the rest of his aches, certainly isn't appealing. A hotel room couldn't be more than a hundred dollars or so and considering what they'd already spent, that wasn't much at all. Of course, come tomorrow, there would be only one thing to do.
"Okay," David relents. "Just for tonight. Tomorrow, we have to head back, return the money."
"Can't do that," Christopher replies.
"Why not?"
"Then they'll know I did it. Jail time? I'll pass, thanks."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before," David bellows and Christopher scrambles to roll the windows up as an older couple strolls past the car. Christopher smiles politely at them before turning back to his passenger.
"Chill out, David."
"Chill out?" David yelps, pounding his fists on the dash with each word. "Christopher, I am not chill under the best of circumstances, the past few days haven't exactly been smooth sailing, and you've just told me that you stole six thousand dollars. Are you kidding me?" He turns to the other boy, chest heaving, and is more than a little annoyed when Christopher begins to laugh.
"What is so fucking funny?" David demands. In response, Christopher's laughter develops into a full bellied, uncontrollable fit.
"You've lost your mind," David tells him, trying hard not to smile. "What was your plan in all this?"
Christopher wipes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shrugs.
"Drive fast?"
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