(no subject)

[uponplains]

Title: An Unfortunate Situation (Chapters One & Two)
Author: circus_sands
Pairing/Characters): T-Bag, C-Note, others mentioned
Category: Dark humor, AU (and I definitely mean AU!)
Rating: R for profanity only
Spoilers (if any): none
Summary: T-Bag and C-Note found themselves irritatingly (or more like disgustingly, horribly, and unfairly) stuck together for a few days while they traveled on foot after landing off the airplane.
Author's Notes: The whole reason why I started this fic (and I started it ages ago, even before the season was over) was because I'd just watched Pulp Fiction and realized quite a bit of the dialogue in that movie could potentially work for Prison Break characters. So I came up with this little idea that grew and grew into a chaptered fic. I used a lot of Pulp Fiction dialogue, and you can see the quotes here at the IMDB page so you know what's mine and what isn't if you've never seen the movie. I didn't really have a plan for it but when thelana posted a plot bunny that was very similar to this fic I dug it up again and decided to post it.


T-Bag and C-Note found themselves irritatingly (or more like disgustingly, horribly, and unfairly) stuck together for a few days while they traveled on foot after landing off the airplane. They’d both been more than angry about the whole setup-“I am not” “if you think I’m about to spend the next few days with Darkie here you’d best think again”-but Michael was adamant. Sucre had ended up going with Michael and Lincoln, planning to separate later. Abruzzi had seemingly gone off on his own; everyone figured he couldn’t be too far away but nobody wanted to go looking for him. He had his own connections, and Michael had reluctantly told him where Fibonacci was. Even though there was know way of being one hundred percent sure Michael wasn’t lying, Abruzzi was certain it must be the right address this time since he didn’t think Michael was that stupid. And this left T-Bag considerably at ease now that Abruzzi was out of the picture.

“You two need to stay together, if only for the next few days,” said Michael. “We need to stay in small groups. Just don’t kill each other and make everything we’ve been through a waste. And C-Note, make sure he doesn’t do anything that would… draw attention. Contact me in two days.” He didn’t quite look at them as he said it and both T-Bag and C-Note seemed a little suspicious about the whole thing.

But after much grumbling and glares and angry verbal beat-downs from Michael they finally relented. It was morning when they set off down an empty road near a town, and C-Note could hear his stomach growling.

“Listen, we need to get something to eat.”

T-Bag pondered this for a moment and had to agree. They walked into the first diner they saw. It was a regular cheap place, smelling of coffee and eggs. They had money but not in abundance, so Michael had told them to just share all their meals.

“Some nice food for a change,” said T-Bag, smiling and opening the menu. He looked at C-Note across the table and his expression fell slightly. “Even if I do have to share it with Zimbabwe.”

C-Note said nothing as he evaluated the menu, wanting to choose carefully. It would be his first free meal in years. And he had to share it with this trash. It was a very unfortunate situation.

“Whatcha want then,” asked T-Bag impatiently. “Bacon?”

“No, I don’t eat pork.” T-Bag’s eyes narrowed.

“What, you Jewish or something?”

“No I ain’t Jewish, I just don’t dig on swine that’s all.”

T-Bag was momentarily puzzled.

“Why not?”

“Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.”

“But bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.” T-Bag was making himself even hungrier just thinking about it.

“Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker.”

C-Note paused, before continuing, “Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eating nothing that ain't got enough sense enough to disregard its own feces.”

“Jesus, wasn’t asking for a dissertation,” said T-Bag, raising his eyebrows.

“… Pancakes.”

“Fine.”

The waitress walked over and C-Note watched T-Bag carefully. He was going to make sure T-Bag didn’t screw their whole escape up, and T-Bag knew it.

“Can I take your order?”

“We’d ah, just like one order of pancakes.” T-Bag looked at C-Note smugly out of the corner of his eye as his tongue flicked slightly.

“That it?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Fine,” she said rudely, and reached across the table to take their menus. T-Bag looked at C-Note with a strange expression on his face as the waitress reached across him. He didn’t move but C-Note stared back, feeling sick.

“Relax,” T-Bag said when the waitress was gone. “You’re lookin’ a bit tense.”

C-Note snorted derisively in response and they lapsed into silence for a moment.

“How about a dog?” asked T-Bag after a while.

“What?”

“Dog eats its own feces.”

“Don’t eat dog either.”

“Yes, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?”

“I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty.” C-Note rubbed his head and wondered why he was having this conversation. “But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.”

“So by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. That true?”

“Hey man, if you had a better personality you’d cease to be a filthy animal and that’s saying something.”

“Now that there was just uncalled for.”

“Anyway we'd have to be talking about one charming motherfucking pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charming than that pig with the spider, you know what I'm saying?”

After he’d said it, C-Note suddenly thought of his daughter and wondered if maybe she was watching that old Charlotte’s Web video right at that moment. He suddenly and desperately wanted to go home.

“I got no idea what you’re talking about,” T-Bag said, looking at him with a bemused expression.

Their food came and they stopped talking for a while, each content to enjoy his own half a meal and forget the other existed. When it came time to pay C-Note took out the cash since he was keeping it all on him. When T-Bag had protested Michael had given him a dollar and told him not to spend it all in one place. They got up and left, and stood outside in the cool, gray air.

“Now what?” asked T-Bag as they started walking down the road.

“We keep going,” said C-Note somewhat uncertainly. “Scofield wasn’t too clear ‘bout that part.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout sleeping in the woods and shit?”

“Shouldn’t be too much of a change for a backcountry cracker such as yourself.”

“Well there ain’t no welfare plans out here,” said T-Bag, evaluating the woods beyond the road, “Think you gonna survive?”

C-Note faced him and T-Bag looked him straight in the eye.

“I told Scofield this was never gonna work,” said C-Note angrily.

“You and I both, and now that we out in the free world maybe we don’t got to listen to Scofield anymore.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

They both scowled at each other and turned to go in their own separate directions.

“You two need a ride?”

C-Note looked up to see a man pulling up in a car.

“Uh no thanks,” said C-Note, starting to move away.

“Just one moment,” said T-Bag to the man in the car, and when C-Note looked at him he saw a very familiar sight: T-Bag bending to pull a shank out of his sock. C-Note quickly stepped in front of T-Bag and grabbed his wrist, pulling him away from the car and speaking to him very quietly and very forcefully.

“You’re already getting out your shank. That ain’t gonna happen.”

“You stupid? He’s got a car! Won’t take but a minute.”

“You hear me? I said that ain’t gonna happen.”

“You two coming or not?” The man sounded impatient.

C-Note turned and looked back at him with a smile. T-Bag looked furious.

“Thanks man but no, we’re gonna keep walking.”

“Your call,” said the man and drove away. C-Note exhaled and rubbed his forehead.

“You mean to tell me that if I just let you walk away you’re gonna keep shanking everybody you see just to get shit?”

“I do what I have to,” said T-Bag evenly, rubbing his wrist. “I don’t see you figuring into the equation.”

“So when you kill more people I gotta have that on my conscience? And when you get busted for killing a guy at the wrong place at the wrong time, I got to worry about my own safety? ‘Cause knowing you, you’d turn me in just to get at me and you’d turn everybody else in so you don’t have to go down alone… Oh hell no.”

T-Bag rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

“Well I am certainly not about to alter any of my predispositions and if you ain’t gonna leave then you’re just gonna have to stick it out then.”

“Damn.” C-Note felt miserable. This wasn’t how he wanted to spend his first days of freedom, babysitting a psychopath. He should be halfway to seeing his family at the very least.

“Guess I’ll be putting this away then,” said T-Bag sullenly to himself.

“No,” said C-Note suddenly, and held out his palm. “You hand that over to me, right now.”

“You kidding me?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” C-Note’s voice was steely, and T-Bag had to admit he looked pretty serious.

“I would prefer not to.”

“And I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

“But I know you got a shank too,” said T-Bag, becoming angry. “Just don’t seem fair. You got two shanks and I got none?”

“Yeah well I don’t think a pinky swear is gonna make you promise not to use it.”

“I’ll be good,” said T-Bag, smirking.

“Somehow I don’t trust that,” said C-Note dryly. “Hand it over.”

T-Bag stood very still, looking right at him.

“Man, do not make me beat it out of your hands. I just ate.”

T-Bag still didn’t move. C-Note saw his grip on his shank tighten and sighed.

“Just making this harder for yourself.” And with that C-Note punched T-Bag so hard T-Bag fell over.

“Oh you’re in trouble now,” spat T-Bag, who hadn’t really thought C-Note was going to do anything. He put a hand on the ground to steady himself as he tried to stand up. “You’re definitely gonna need that shank now, goddamn rughead.” He felt C-Note’s hand around the same wrist as before and the bruise he’d already been given made it even more sensitive than usual. He dropped the knife.

“Good,” said C-Note, picking up the knife and pocketing it. “If you’re done taking a rest on the ground there, I’d like to keep moving since we are in broad daylight now.”

T-Bag got up, brushing dirt off his back and gingerly touching his cheekbone.

“I’m not gonna take this abuse,” he warned, pausing to again spit blood to the side.

“You don’t give me a reason to get abusive, I won’t be.”

“So what, we just gonna keep wanderin’ down this here road until God knows when?”

“There’s a town over there. We’ll find a motel to stay at. I don’t know how used to it you may be, but I ain’t sleeping on the ground.”

“Separate rooms I hope.”

“Not nearly as much as I do, Cletus,” C-Note retorted, glowering at him.

“I got an illustrious history with motels,” said T-Bag almost nostalgically as they proceeded down the road. He seemed to have forgotten all about their little rift.

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Damn pity. Those were some good times.”

“Shut up right now.”

“Oh I forgot, you’re a family man.”

“You say one more thing about my family, I’m gonna get seriously into that abuse we were just talking about.”

“Well excuse me, forgot how excitable your people get about familial bonds. It’s almost touching.”

C-Note ground his teeth and didn’t answer.

T-Bag yawned and pointed ahead. They were just coming to a ridge where the road sloped down and through the gray mist hanging over the gravel road C-Note could see a sign that clearly read “Greenhawk Motel.”

“I’m ‘bout ready to pass out,” said T-Bag tiredly. “All this excitement’s got me drained. And thanks to you I’ve got a shitty headache. We’re stopping.”

“Fine,” said C-Note, who was feeling tired himself. They hadn’t slept in a very long time, between the escape and the plane and their little hike.

When they walked into the motel C-Note paid for two rooms while T-Bag lurked in the background watching. The proprietor glanced up at C-Note as he gave him his keys before looking past him at T-Bag.

“Right next door to each other and you’ll get some privacy.”

T-Bag gave a short laugh and C-Note thought he might throw up.

“Have a nice day.”

“Fuck you very much,” muttered C-Note and he walked out, T-Bag closing the door behind him. C-Note checked the room numbers on their keys as they walked down the line of doors, until they came to the two doors farthest away. How considerate, C-Note thought wryly. He turned to T-Bag.

“Alright, now listen up. I need to be getting some serious sleep in here, got it? So don’t be trying anything funny. You don’t want any more new bruises, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah you know, I’m growin’ weary of all this talk like I’m some spring chicken who wants to fly the coop. I’ll fall asleep standin’ up if you talk to me much longer.”

C-Note threw him his keys and watched as T-Bag opened his door.

“Yo.”

“What?” T-Bag snapped.

“Give those over.”

T-Bag looked at him incredulously.

“I ain’t gonna give you my goddamn keys! So you can sneak in and shank me with them two knives you got now while I’m sleeping? Uh-uh.”

“I don’t think you understand the picture,” said C-Note. “I’m in charge here. This is the free world, and you ain’t got none of your little Nazi friends to watch your back. Wouldn’t take much to break your bones now would it?”

T-Bag made a noise that sounded part laughter part frustrated cow.

“This just ain’t fair. I told you before, I ain’t gonna take much more of this abuse.”

“And I told you before, if you don’t make me have to get abusive, you won’t have to deal with it.”

T-Bag looked wan and pale, and rubbed his eyes. He looked up blearily and tossed the keys on the ground.

“I’m going to sleep. You try to kill me and I’ll strangle you ‘fore you can say-”

T-Bag slammed the door, leaving C-Note standing outside. He bent down to pick up the keys and T-Bag heard his door being locked from the outside.

C-Note walked into his own room. He sat on the bed and gazed out the window at the sun filtering through the trees and suddenly didn’t feel tired. He’d meant to sleep because he knew he needed it but now… He stayed very quiet and sure enough heard two thumps of boots being kicked off and a muffled grunt. Then it was silent, and C-Note pondered his options. Knowing T-Bag, he probably had some other weapon lodged someplace that he was all too ready to use. But C-Note had seen something down the road that had given him an idea.


II.

When T-Bag opened his eyes he didn’t know how long he’d been out. He checked the clock and figured about an hour and a half had passed. He growled irritably, an hour and a half was not even close to enough. He never did sleep much though. He tried rolling over to get back to sleep but found himself staring out the window. It was a bright sunny day, and T-Bag sat up and looked around the room. It was dingy and the nightstand had a thin coating of dust. He looked out the window again. He was finally free and yet here he was trapped in a dusty room with a rughead next door just dying for an excuse to sock him in the face. He was not enjoying his situation.

He slid the window up and it creaked obnoxiously. He evaluated the drop, or lack thereof- he could just step out of that window and feel a foot on the ground. So he shoved the window up higher and placed one leg over the windowsill. No sooner had he done this than he heard a key turn in a lock and his door was flung open. T-Bag dropped his head forward in annoyance and stepped back into the room, still looking wistfully out the window.

“Alright alright alright.”

“What do I look like?” C-Note’s voice was calm, but faintly dangerous and T-Bag turned around readying himself. But he was completely unprepared for what he saw: C-Note was standing in his doorway pointing a gun straight at him.

“What are you doing?” T-Bag couldn’t hide the alarm in his voice. “And where the hell’d you get that?”

“I said, what do I look like?” C-Note glanced behind him and shut the door.

“What?” T-Bag wanted to back away but felt the gap of the open window. He didn’t think C-Note would take too kindly to him jumping out.

“What country are you from?”

“What?”

“What ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in What?”

“What?” T-Bag stared at the gun C-Note was holding. Where on earth had he got hold of that? It must have been while he was sleeping, he realized. Goddammit.

“English, motherfucker! Do you speak it?!” C-Note was yelling now, and T-Bag shrank away holding up his hands.

“Hey I speak English alright? Happy? Jesus.”

“Then you know what I’m saying! Now, what do I look like?”

“What? I-” T-Bag was confused and also completely surprised. He’d never seen C-Note so completely lose his cool. He didn’t like it.

“Say what again. Say what again. I dare you. I double dare you motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time.”

T-Bag eyed the gun pointing straight at him and decided to just answer.

“You’re black.”

“Go on.”

“… bald?”

“Do I look like a bitch?”

“What? I mean, I mean-” T-Bag ducked and looked at C-Note’s gun. It didn’t go off.

“I said, do I look like a bitch?” C-Note’s face was scary, if he’d had any qualms about doing it before now, T-Bag thought, at that moment he looked about ready to pull the trigger.

“No?”

“Then why the hell’d you try to fuck me like one?”

“I…” T-Bag didn’t know what to say to that one. He was about to make a joke but thought better of it, and instead said, “Think you could get that gun outta my face? I got your point.”

C-Note eyed him and dropped his arm. T-Bag began to breathe again.

“Now I told you I’d have to get abusive on your ass if you gave me a reason.”

“I can’t believe you bought a goddamn gun, you trying to get us caught?” T-Bag’s mind was still racing. Maybe he could steal it. C-Note had no idea what he was getting himself into. “And while I was sleeping too, that’s just low…”

“I had to give you the message. You were trying to escape.”

“You didn’t know that at the time!”

“So I kept it until I did know.”

“That don’t make no sense.”

“Being around you and not having a gun don’t seem to make much more sense.”

T-Bag stood up and rubbed his forehead. He was sweating.

“We gotta go now,” he said, looking at C-Note angrily. “You can’t just go buyin’ guns. You don’t exactly fit in round these parts, do you now? Nice old store too I’ll bet, probably only sells ‘em to people who maybe wanna shoot geese off their goddamn property ‘cause they shit too goddamn much. What’s it gonna look like when a big old rughead who clearly ain’t from around here goes in and buys a weapon like that, huh?”

T-Bag folded his arms and looked at C-Note critically.

“I pegged you for more brains’n that anyhow. And that’s sayin’ a shitload.”

“Just protecting my own ass, don’t really matter what you pegged me for. Bet you pegged for a whole lotta things.”

“Well I sure as hell didn’t know you’d feel required to arm yourself with two shanks and a goddamn gun to protect yourself from me.” T-Bag smirked. “That’s mighty flatterin’, I gotta tell you.”

C-Note stood in the middle of the room, not saying anything. He felt vaguely embarrassed, the thought had never occurred to him. But he shook it off and grumpily kicked T-Bag’s boots at him.

“We’re going.”

“Where to?”

“You think I know?”

“Well since you’ve established yourself as leader of this outfit I figured you’d at least have some sort of plan.”

“Fine then. I’m still hungry, I want a burger.”

“Yeah after that nice little brush with unnecessary violence I could go for a burger myself. Cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast. What the fuck are you talking about?”

C-Note ignored him and walked back into his room and picked up his jacket. He put the gun in the waistband of his pants and put the jacket on over it. He could hear T-Bag stomping his boots on. From now on C-Note knew he’d have to keep an even closer eye on him. Even though the gun was protecting him, T-Bag would try to find some way of stealing it. Maybe he should just chuck it. He’d gotten his point across. And he’d rather have two shanks facing an unarmed T-Bag than two shanks facing T-Bag armed with a gun. Though he hated to see money go to waste like that…

“Ready to go, Angus?” T-Bag zipped up his own jacket outside and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Only if you are, hoosier.”

They walked back to the proprietor, and realized they’d only just seen him a couple of hours ago.

“What a gratuitous waste of money,” muttered T-Bag as they approached the desk.

“Here,” said C-Note, throwing the keys on the desk. “We’re out.”

“Alrighty,” said the proprietor, looking at them with an expression C-Note didn’t like. But he didn’t say anything.

They left the motel, and T-Bag meandered over to the only car sitting in the lot-the proprietor’s, C-Note guessed-and peered through the window. C-Note walked over to the road to see how far away the town was. He could see a Mobil station and a traffic light blinking a little farther beyond; they weren’t too far away.

“Come on,” he called, “it’s not much farther up.”

T-Bag gave one last look at the car before reluctantly walking over. C-Note was somehow amused at the fact that even outside the prison T-Bag had not lost his swagger. Yet deep down it bothered him, because he knew it meant that T-Bag wasn’t worried. And that alone was enough to be worrisome.

“We’d better walk in the woods, there are cars out now.”

T-Bag didn’t say anything, and just followed him off the road. They were silent for a while; the only sounds they heard were their shoes on the dead leaves underneath or the occasional car whiz by. C-Note glanced at T-Bag a few times, feeling uneasy. He wasn’t usually this quiet. They passed the gun store and T-Bag sniffed derisively but made no comment.

“How far did you say it was?” asked T-Bag finally, after about seven minutes.

“We’re getting there.”

“Listen now,” said T-Bag, stopping suddenly and scratching his cheek, “I been thinkin’ for a while now about what happened this morning.”

“Have you.”

“I have. And I just thought you ought to know that I got a threshold for the abuse I’ll take. An’ right now… I’m a racecar and you got me in the red. Now I’m just sayin’ it’s dangerous to have a racecar in the fuckin’ red. It could blow.”

“Oh, you’re getting ready to blow?” C-Note smiled.

“I could blow.”

“Well I'm a mushroom-cloud-layin' motherfucker, motherfucker. Don’t be talking to me about getting ready to blow ‘cause I been gettin’ ready for goddamn years now. What you saw today was just a little preview.”

“Yeah you know Brownie, I ain’t followin’ along on this endeavor if I can’t even enjoy my freedom whiles I got it. You can’t just point a gun in my face and scream shit at me and expect me to comply.”

“Yeah but that’s where you’re wrong.”

T-Bag opened his mouth to say something but paused and shut it again.

“Howsabout we quit having these pointless conversations,” suggested C-Note, smirking a little. “We’ve already wasted enough time.”

T-Bag kicked the leaves in front of him in frustration and started walking again.

They kept walking for another few minutes, and C-Note looked through the trees and saw the gas station. Soon they saw a general store, and finally, a diner.

“Alright, how much cash we got left?” asked T-Bag. “I know it’s probably pointless to bring up at this juncture in our relationship but I feel like I should be holding some of that money too.”

C-Note ignored him and counted up their money. “Thirty.”

“Oh hell, that supposed to last us until tomorrow? Maybe if someone hadn’t gone out and purchased a goddamn murder weapon we’d have a little bit more to spend. That was quite possibly the stupidest mistake you could have ever made.”

“Not as stupid as hiring a whore, like somebody else wanted to.”

“Different priorities. Some people is all about the hate and some is all about the love.”

“Yeah I’d fear for that bitch’s life.”

T-Bag chuckled. “Aw I can be a gentleman sometimes… Just a question of what times we talkin’ about.”

C-Note looked at him disgustedly.

“We getting a burger or not?” asked T-Bag, looking impatiently through the trees at the restaurant.

C-Note turned to cross the road and T-Bag followed.

“Really livin’ it up,” said T-Bag as they sat down, pulling out the menu. “Wasn’t we just in one of these?”

“Burger’s eight bucks,” said C-Note, satisfied. “You know what? I’m feeling generous. Let’s get two.”

“That’s sixteen dollars, we only got thirty,” said T-Bag, looking at him, shocked. “And it ain’t your place to be doling out cash like it’s all yours. That’s for me too. And I ain’t spending it on eight-dollar burgers! Try five dollars! What kinda burgers you been eating lately anyhow?”

“No kind, which is why I want this one to be good.”

“You one fucked up Negro is all I have to say,” said T-Bag in slight awe. “You spend all our money on guns and motel rooms we can only stay in for three hours and eight-dollar hamburgers… I just want to know where you think you’re going to get that extra cash we are inevitably going to need. You owe me, considerin’ I ain’t spent one dime of that money yet.”

“We’ll eat the hamburgers and we won’t spend money on a single thing until tomorrow, which is when we call Scofield and get cash and make our plan.”

“That’s the most irrational plan I ever heard. And what, you gonna look him up in the yellow pages?”

“He said to contact him.”

“I am aware of that, I was inquiring as to how you plan to go about doing that. He give you a number, a address, anything?”

“It’s under control.”

T-Bag’s jaw dropped. “You’re not gonna tell me? Or he didn’t give you a thing? He think you gonna communicate telepathically? He got some magic ability to speak across state lines with fucked up rugheads?”

“Yeah yeah I got his number alright?”

“Hm.” T-Bag looked at him suspiciously. “Why do I got the feeling you got some trick up that sleeve of yours?”

“Burger or not?”

“You order two eight-dollar burgers and I’ll shank you on general principle.”

“I want my own. I didn’t know you were so keen on sharing all of the sudden. I thought you wanted your own food, we already had to share the goddamn pancakes.”

“Point taken,” said T-Bag, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Makes more sense when you put it like that.” After a minute of what looked like deep thought he sat back. “Alright, fine.”

“Good.”

They ordered their burgers and finally relaxed against the plastic-like cushions of the booths.

“Burgers always best in America,” commented C-Note, who looked like he was starting to unwind.

“Why, where else you had a burger?” asked T-Bag, glad for once the conversation wasn’t about him getting his head beaten in or about C-Note’s inane financial plans.

“Paris.”

“You ain’t been to Paris.” T-Bag sounded amused.

“No I haven’t. But you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in Paris?”

“Ain’t just called that?”

“No, ‘cause of the metric system or some shit. They wouldn’t know what the hell a Quarter Pounder is.”

“Well what do they call it?”

“Royale with cheese.”

Their burgers came and as they ate T-Bag looked at his cheeseburger interestedly.

“Royale with cheese. What about a Big Mac?”

“Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.”

T-Bag snickered, and they stopped talking for a while and concentrated on their burgers.

“What do they call a Whopper?” T-Bag asked a few moments later.

“Don’t know, my friend didn’t go into Burger King.” C-Note looked up from his plate, across the room past T-Bag. He glanced back at him. T-Bag was contentedly munching his burger.

“Got one though, bet you can’t guess what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in Italy.”

“No,” said T-Bag, now focusing on the pickles. “What?”

A shadow fell across the table. T-Bag looked up and almost jumped out of his skin.

“Hello gentlemen.” It was John Abruzzi.

TBC