Floored by Ainslie Paton

There’s a McDonald’s at the next cross street.”
    She glanced at him. Was he serious? She slowed up anyway.
    “Pull in there. Get in the drive-through.”
    He was serious. “You want a Big Mac now?”
    He laughed. “No. I want you to have a chance to catch your breath. We’re not being chased. It’s okay.”
    “How can it be okay? You got knifed. You’re a criminal and I’m a getaway driver.” There was a queue for the drive-thru. She pulled in and a carload of teenagers pulled in behind them.
    He grunted. “I promise you I’m not a bad guy.”
    “You’re a drug courier.”
    He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
    “That’s it? That’s all I get? It’s complicated.” She glared at him. “Get out of my car.”
    “I wish I could. Believe me I wish I could.”
    He was bloody and limping but much as she hated him she couldn’t dump him here. “Right, okay. I’ll get you to a hospital but that’s it for us.”
    “Order something.”
    “What?”
    “You’re at the speaker box thing. Order something.”
    They’d been creeping forward in the line. She could hear the squawk of a voice through the intercom. She opened her window. This was surreal. She’d just been an accomplice in a gang crime and now she was having fries with that. “What do you want?” She couldn’t believe she’d asked that question.
    “Get me a flat white and an apple pie.”
    “Can I help you?”
    “Two flat whites and two apple pies please.”
    “That’ll be eight dollars twenty. Drive through to the first window please.”
    “Thanks,” he said.
    “I assume we’re taking away.”
    He laughed. “But only as far as a parking spot. We need to talk.”
    “No. I need to get you to a hospital, forget what you look like and never let a blue-eyed bikie crawl in my back seat again.”
    “No hospital.”
    She glared again. This was a like a scene from a B-grade movie. Unbelievable.
    “You noticed my eye colour.”
    He’d lost his sunnies in the fight. He was looking at her funny with the stupid blue eyes in question. “What is your problem?” She sighed, that was such a stupid thing to say. He was a criminal, he’d had a bad day at work, and he was quite possibly bleeding to death. He had more than a few problems.
    “Drive forward.” He had a twenty in his hand and held it out. She took it and handed it to the girl at the window, who handed her change and said, “Next window.” She put the coins in her coin holder and drove forward. He could shout this snack, and she was keeping the change. At the next window she took the cardboard holder with the two coffees and a bag with the pies from the hands of a young kid wearing a headset. The kid was busy taking another order while he doled hers out. He didn’t look at her, or notice the man bleeding out beside her.
    The wanted criminal took the stuff out of her hands and she drove forward and parked. After all that she felt oddly composed. Her breathing had returned to normal, her hands weren’t shaking and that feeling of her blood speeding around her body had subsided. She looked at her criminal. Had he known this was what she needed? Something super normal, routinely boring.
    “Is your name Fetch?” That was another stupid question. It proved she wasn’t entirely recovered. She didn’t want to know his name. She didn’t want to know anything about him, except his blood type so when she dropped him off at the hospital comatose she could be helpful.
    He hesitated. He handed her a coffee with the lid removed. Maybe they shared a love of Macca’s apple pie, along with the idea this was better kept anonymous. He sounded reluctant when he said, “Yeah.”
    “Drink up, Fetch. You’re not welcome in my car anymore.”
    “Is it your car?”
    “I’m driving it, what does it matter?”
    “Is it your car or do you drive it for someone?”
    “That’s none of your business.”
    “Well, I think I owe the owner of this Statesman an apology for bleeding on their fine