Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 12: Drop it Like it's Hot

12 
Drop It Like It's Hot

==========DANNY==========

"Okay," Mary began. "This is the plan, Daniel." I wasn't even going to bother correcting her despite my name legally being: Danny.

"You're going to put on this—" Mary pulled out a rolled-up Snoop Dog T-shirt from her purse. "Waltz your cute little ass in there, grab a twenty-sixer of Absolut Vodka, and casually, without saying something stupid, walk up to the counter, hand the person working the till whatever the total comes to, accept the change, and walk out."

"Thank you, Mary. I know how to buy something at a store. But I can't do vodka. I'll puke."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Fine. Okay, so walk into the aisle that says whiskey, and pluck out a bottle of Jack. But you can't walk into the wrong aisle, or you're gonna look like you have no idea what you're doing."

I told her that whiskey would be worse. She told me I was impossible and said to just buy a thing of red wine; it didn't matter what kind, so long as it was red and under fifteen bucks.

During our phone call the night before, after a long static silence, Mary apologized for standing me up at the mall and said she would "make it up" to me. I had not yet received any clear explanation behind her vanishing act. The conversation had gone something like this:

"Oh, come on. Soften up on poor misfortunate little me. I'll make it up to you. Okay, Froo Froo?"

"Froo Froo does not in the slightest bit make me feel any better."

"We'll do something far more exciting than going to our shitty mall."

"Yeah. The mall's even shittier when you're stood up."

"Cry me a river, Froo Froo. Do you have a fake ID?"

"Yes. I have a fake ID. Are we going to be participating in illegal activity?"

"Is anything that's fun in life not illegal?"

So little did I know that her intention for my fake ID would bring us to Lockport Malts and Liquors the following day.

In the car, Mary continued to go on about her exorbitantly thorough outline of how to get away with buying booze. The mission was planned down to the very last detail, including, but not limited to, where I should look when I'm up at the counter, and what hand I should reach for my wallet with. I told her she was overthinking, and she told me that at least one of us thinks. And just as I got out of the car, it hit me.

"I totally lost my fake ID."

"You did what?"

"That night. At The Broken Lyre concert. I totally forgot my fake at the bar."

"Danny! You idiot! How could you forget your fake ID! That was our lifeline for my amazingly planned evening!"

"Hey, I left it at the bar to catch up to you."

"Well, what good is that doin' us now?"

Mary scolded me for my lack of responsibility overseeing illegal activity, and after declaring that this was "a woman's job anyhow," marched into Lockport Malts and Liquors. For some reason, she did not need to wear the Snoop Dog shirt to have the plan succeed.

Just as Mary pulled open the door, my phone began ringing. "Hello?"

"Danny—Rob. What are you doing right now?"