The mall cop’s eyes light up. “You guys got a stunt channel?”
I decide to lay it on thicker.
“It’s all staged, even the meatball toothpicks,” I add. “My friend wears a special safety vest under his shirt. Nobody got harmed on our account.”
The kid flicks a meatball and Wolfe flinches before he catches himself. He gives a thumbs up, letting out a choked laugh.
“Two old guys doing stunts is awesome!” the mall cop says.
I bite my tongue at his backhanded compliment. It seems during the span of this conversation, I’ve entered geezer territory after all. I can see why he’d say that about Wolfe. He’s probably a good ten or fifteen years older than me, but I’m not too old for stunts.
I have the stamina of an apex predator!
The physique of a young bull!
The virility of a stallion!
I’m sure Tally would happily vouch for me, but I swallow my pride. This ain’t thetime to brag.
“Are you like, famous? We never get celebrities and influencers here!” the mall cop asks.
Influenza? What does the flu have to do with this and why would he want to get sick?
But the fame bit is concerning. Maybe the YouTube channel was a bad idea. The last thing I need is him asking for a picture or some shit. I can’t have my likeness plastered all over the Facebooks soon and going bacterial. Or was it viral? Is that why he was talking about the flu?
No matter. I might not be flu-ent in influenza bacterial tech babble, but I know I gotta defuse the situation.
“We havefivesubscribers,” I say with exaggerated pride.
The mall cop’s head tilts. “Like five million?”
“No, like…” I hold up a hand. “Five fingers.”
His shoulders sag. “Oh.”
Great! Nothing is more off-putting than an overzealous, fame-hungry wannabe.
“We’d really love if you’d subscribe to our channel!” I inch closer to the mall cop and he steps away. “Wolfe, give him one of the cool business cards we printed yesterday!”
Wolfe blinks blearily at me until I nudge him in the side. “Right…” He pats his pockets, pretending to search for business cards that don’t exist.
God, he’s really bad at acting, too. I can’t count on him to keep our cover. That means I need to turn up the annoying YouTuber act to get rid of the kid.
“Come on, man! You look like a real adrenaline junkie!” I casually pat the mall cop’s shoulder.
His brows arch. “I do?”
“Yeah, you need some action in your life! Look up our channel ‘Senior Stunt Bros’and then make sure you hit that subscribe button. You’re getting in on the ground floor here!” I sing-song and make a peace sign.
I’m making myself sick talking like this, but it’s clearly working. With every word leaving my mouth, the mall cop’s eyes glaze over more. After a few minutes of me rambling about subscribers, he yawns.
“Alright, alright. I’ll check you out,” he mumbles. “Gotta get back on patrol.” Then he turns around and shuffles away, spiritually defeated.
“Let’s go,” I say to Wolfe and steer him toward the exit. “Shit, with security on our ass we gotta worry about the surveillance tapes now. Let me reiterate how much you suck at being a criminal, man. Couldn’t you have picked a park for the drop off?”
Wolfe snickers. “I might not be the greatest at this, but I did think of the cameras.”
“Do tell, genius.”
