25
Sydney
Everymovieortelevisionshow Sydney had ever watched that involved a road trip depicted them as this chaotic amalgamation of follies and laughter.Nothing could be further from the truth.
First of all, Fink had them leaving in the middle of dead-ass night.He said something about less traffic and being able to cover more ground when people were sleeping.Whatever, but that meant there was nothing to see.
She couldn’t enjoy the views they passed.Even playing license plate bingo had lost its appeal three hours in.Mostly because Fink had no interest in the game.He said he would play but then didn’t.They’d driven so long, the radio began repeating their playlists.
Fink refused to allow her to log in to her Spotify account.Instead, they relied on FM Radio.FM!Who did that?He didn’t even have a satellite station.
Apparently, using any subscription service would result in a digital trail.If, for some reason, the cops got wind of them being in the area, they could be pinged through those.
He made her leave her phone behind.Something about cell towers and digital footprints.She half listened after he told her she couldn’t bring it.Her annoyance had clogged her ears.She wasn’t perfect.Another time she would pay attention to the whys.Right now, she was pissed about being disconnected from the internet.
What woman in the twenty-first century didn’t have her cell in her hand?It was practically surgically attached.Though, if she were honest, this was a tiny inconvenience in the grand scheme of pursuing her dream.
Sydney didn’t have friends—just a few acquaintances.People she kept in contact with sporadically.They wouldn’t even be aware if she didn’t have it, since they spoke every few months.With family, well, that was complicated.They were dead or rotting in prison—so, dead to her.She was a loner in every sense of the word.
Which made sitting in the passenger seat beside Fink for the past four hours boring as hell.One-woman concerts could only sustain her for so long.
He didn’t help.His conversation skills were minimal.If she asked questions, he answered them, but there was no depth to it.He gave her the bare minimum, and that was it.
She didn’t want to talk about Burke anymore.They’d discussed him ad nauseam at this point.Frankly, she was eager to kill him just so that they could put him behind them.
Giving Fink her attention, with her elbow on the center console and her chin in her hand, she blew out a heavy breath.How could they fill the time?
“Why Fink?”she asked.
He stopped bopping his head to “For I am Death” by Pretty Reckless and glanced in her direction quizzically.
“Like, you told me it’s not your given name, so why do you call yourself that?”she clarified, readjusting in her seat.“Is it your surname?”
Shifting his focus back to the road, he shook his head.
“Then where did it come from?”
“Rat Fink,” he said plainly.
She furrowed her brows.“What is that?”
One corner of his mouth rose in a bit of a half grin.“It’s hard to explain.He’s this cartoon character that Big Daddy Roth created.I used to doodle him as a kid, and I don’t know why, but I loved to draw him.”
“Wait!”Her eyes widened as she thought of all the ink covering his skin.“Don’t you have this fat, mouse-looking thing on your calf?”
He chuckled.It was such a merry sound.She wished he did it more.
“I do,” he admitted.“I drew that.”
She nodded.
Interesting.
This was the most personal piece of information she’d ever gotten from him.This tiny glimpse into what he kept hidden warmed her heart.
“Do you still doodle?”
“Not really.”His expression went back to the neutral one he typically wore.Some might consider it resting asshole face, but she knew it was the way he looked and didn’t take it personally.
