“Jesus Christ, girl.” Jennings’s face pinched into a point surrounded by cheeks and chins. He picked up another chicken wing and bit into it.

Lola covered her mouth and breathed through her nose. She looked over at Jennings with watery eyes and her stomach gurgled as he chewed with an open mouth, strings of saliva connecting his top and bottom teeth, thick with mashed food bits.

Another stream of vomit burst from her mouth, spraying through her fingers and shooting off in all directions. Some of it hit her window and slid down in bubbly streams, some of it hit the ceiling, some of it hit Jennings on the chest and badge. One stream shot through the cage wall, splashing through the metal, and right into the waiting mouth of the fat man. He gulped it up and licked his chops.

“Goddamnit.” Jennings hit the brakes and Lola nearly slammed face-first into the dash. While spitting strings of cuss words, Jennings swung his door open and stepped out of the car, still chewing. “Fucking spic bitch.”

Lola heard the remark but was powerless to defend herself.

“Mmmm. I want more. Feed me…m-more…”

Lola fumbled with the door handle, slippery from her vomit, and finally got it open. She stumbled out and landed on the concrete with a thud. She scuttled away from the car as if the fat man would burst free from it and consume her. Broken glass bit into her palms, but the fear and disgust growing in her chest and stomach like spider webs of cancer took precedence.

“You’ll be picking up the tab at the cleaners, you hear me?” Jennings stomped over, the Styrofoam box still in his hand. The son of a bitch was still eating.

It was then that Lola realized they were outside of the station. Her fellow officers walked by, smirking and elbowing each other. A couple of them made comments to Jennings and he laughed along with them—Lola the punchline.

She got to her feet, straightened her shirt and the front of her pants, and faced Jennings. “Sorry,” she said. “Let’s get this guy booked so I can get home.” I need a fucking cigarette.

“I’ll tell you what, lady. You get him inside and I’ll finish my food.” He placed his box on the hood of the car, plucked another wing and bit sloppily into it. “The little chink at the restaurant gave me a bag, and I’ll be damned if it goes to waste.”

Lola frowned, peered at the fat man through the car window. He sat still for the first time since they’d had him back there, his eyes darting all around, his head twisting from side to side.

“Please don’t make me touch him…”

“It’s the penalty for fucking blowing chunks all over me and my car,” he said while chewing.

Lola wondered when the seemingly endless supply of chicken would run out. She hiccupped and winced at the sting in her throat. “How can you eat that shit?”