“What the fuck was that?” I yell. Maybe this isn’t Fingers? Maybe this is about the Boston brothers?
But Jesse is still running, still tugging me along behind him. He finds a door, slams into the silver crossbar to open it, and it goes swinging out so fast it bangs into the side of the building. Then we’re running along the side of the chapel to the back as a full-on shootout happens inside.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jesse yells. “I’m gonna kill Miles, and Fingers, and Clarence, and Steve, and Jessica, and Sven, and Vinnie, and—”
But he stops short. Because we’ve reached the rear parking lot and there’s a whole other gang of men back here. They see us and yell, “There he is!” In English, too. So that’s our second clue that these guys might not be Fingers’ guys. They might, in fact, be real guys after Jesse Boston. Because while I was making fun of his so-called mobster connections this morning, the truth is, Jesse is part of some kind of Mob. It might not be the fake family inside the chapel kind of Mob, but it’s still a secret criminal organization. And yeah, there might actually be people upset with the Boston brothers right now. We never did get the whole story out of Johnny when he came back from the Caribbean with a weird science girl called Megan and no Charlotte Kane.
“This way!” Jesse yells, already running back to the front of the church. I’m definitely out of my element here, so I’m really thankful that he’s got a hold of my hand and is still dragging me behind him, because without that direction I would probably still be standing in that rear parking lot with a sick, confused look on my face.
Instead, I’m now running past the front of the church where there are lots of haphazardly parked black SUVs with blackout windows. And there might even be a whole other army of mobsters inside them, but we don’t stop. We head to the one car we know is empty.
The ‘Just Married’ car, complete with tin cans painted peach and yellow and a giant peach satin bow affixed to each door handle.
It’s a sporty little Mercedes convertible in pale yellow. A classic, actually. Something very vintage Grace Kelly. Something I’d drive if I were living like a princess in Monaco and not the CFO of Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics.
But then Jesse is shoving me into the car, my dress flying up over my head as I crash into the seat. And he’s climbing over me, turning the key in the ignition as I upright myself and paw layers and layers of tulle out of my face.
Fucking Cinderella dress!
But then again… my mind is suddenly trying to picture all this going down in a mermaid dress and I think the Cinderella dress actually works better in this particular situation. I don’t think I could’ve uprighted myself in a mermaid dress and right now Jesse Boston would be driving out of this rural resort with my ass in the air.
Which makes me chuckle. Because my rambling train of thought is insane. Hell, the whole fucking thing is insane!
The tin cans are making a huge ruckus behind us and I take a moment to plot a scheme in which I climb over the back and somehow unhook the cans, but then I realize that’s a level of insane I’m not willing to descend to and look forward again.
I yell, “Stop!”
Because Jesse is looking back at the cans too, and right in the middle of the fucking exit of the resort is a woman blocking the road.
Jesse slams on the brake and we both jerk forward. The car stops within inches of the woman, who I now realize is Karen fucking Krakken.
I say, “Karen?” Because… how the fuck? What the fuck? Who the fuck? All the fucks! None of this makes any sense at all and for a moment I wonder if I’m asleep back in the bridal dressing room. Like… that tub of hot bubbles felt so good I just passed out and all of this is just some Fingers’ Fantasy Wedding Pick Three Buffet-induced dream.
But no. She’s real.
Kraken Karen runs towards our car and yells, “Quick! Get out and come with me!”
I say nothing. I’m too stunned. I’m still trying to make all these square pegs fit into round holes.
But Jesse is on it. He says, “Fuck you, bitch!” and backs up. Then he shifts the car back into first and we peel out, sliding right around Kraken Karen, and then ten seconds later we’re going eighty down the totally empty, abandoned desert road towards the sunset.
I yell, “Oh, my fucking God!” and then, “Where are we going?”
And Jesse yells back—because the wind is pretty loud in a convertible—“We’re going home! Right the fuck now. I don’t care if we have to drive this car all the way to Florida, we’re outta here!”