Small Fry works in the kitchen. I don't think that was his given name, but I've never heard anyone call him anything else - including Blackjack who is usually a stickler about those things. His arms are the size of my thigh and he is consistently chewing on something - usually a toothpick. He used to work on the galley on one of the big ships. I'm not sure what landed him here and he doesn't talk about it either. He's much too future-focused to talk about the past.
I pick up the hubcap tray, the scent of hot grease melding with the fish oil clinging to my hair already, and head out to the bar again, stopping when I see Mikkie so close to Canary's companion. I'm fairly sure this is exactly the sort of thing she wanted me to keep an eye on him for, but if Mikkie decides he wants to rip Millions' kid's arms off, am I actually supposed to stop him? I'm relieved they aren't talking at least, but who knows how long that will last.
Maybe if I give Mikkie something else to muse on, the mouse won't go feral. I'm loath to do it, but on my way back to the Rafters, I stop near Mikkie and say, "I need to talk to you. Alone." I glance over to a small, empty table, hoping he'll take the option to meet me there instead of lingering here next to the naive money, then I head on to drop food at the Rafters.
