Linda and Precocious cheered in excitement and threw their hands up in the air as the wind whipped their hair into a number of interesting abstractions. Linda kicked the back of Morris’s seat and whooped. “Faster!”

“No kicking!” Morris yelled it over the wind and pressed his foot further onto the gas pedal. He shifted into fourth with no resistance from the car and took the next light-a yellow one-at a speed that got the officer running radar to whip out behind him and throw on his lights. “Shit.” Morris was laughing as he downshifted and pulled into an empty liquor store parking lot. “Just tell you are both in seatbelts.”

“Covered,” Precocious glanced behind her at Linda, “on both counts.”

“Well, there’s ten bucks I won’t have to spend.” Morris tapped his hands on the wheel and watched in the rearview as the officer stepped from his car and approached cautiously. “Precocious.”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Don’t talk back.”

She rolled her eyes in amusement. “You know me too well.”

The officer approached the driver’s side at a slant, the width of his body turned outward in case the man in the driver’s seat or one of his companions decided to try and stab him or shoot him or jump at him. He watched them carefully as he turned to fully face the man at the wheel. “Sir, were you aware that you were speeding?”

Morris considered lying, but decided not to pretend. “Yes, Sir, I was.”

“And why were you speeding?”

“It’s a new car. My daughter wanted to see what it could do.”

The officer glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. She was grinning like a maniac. He looked at the woman in the backseat. “And they both your daughters?”

“No, Sir. Just Precocious.”

~Precocious?~ The officer looked at the woman in the passenger seat again, and then looked at the woman in the backseat. “And you are?”

“Linda Sexton.” Linda held out her hand, realized it was covered in paint, and retracted it. “Pardon me.” She scratched at a spot of yellow paint on her thumb.

The officer looked at Linda in mild surprise. “Linda Sexton, the painter?”

“Hmm?” Linda looked up from her hand. “Oh, yeah, I paint.”

“My wife is a huge fan of your work.” The officer broke into a wide smile. “She’s been bugging me for a painting for *months*. We’ve got tickets to your exhibition next week.”

Linda blushed a little and smiled. “Thank you so much. I’ll definitely look for the both of you there.”

The officer looked over at Morris and Precocious. “Slow down, all right?”

Morris nodded. “No problem.” He watched the officer walk back to his car from the side mirror, and waited for him to shut his door before breaking into laughter. “And the crazy artist saves the day.”

“I can’t help it if he recognized me. No one recognizes me, usually.” Linda giggled a little at the whole situation and leaned back in her seat. She kicked the back of Morris’s seat again. “Food. Please.”

“Stop kicking my seat.” Morris restarted the car and pulled into traffic, mindful of the speed limit and the police car that was pulling out behind him. “Just for that, I’m taking you to the fanciest place and town and throwing more paint on you before we go in.”

“But if you do that, how will people know me from the fur-wearers that are covered in paint?”

Precocious turned in her seat so she could see Linda. “I think the purple hair will tip them off.”

“Eh, maybe.” Linda settled back in her seat and kept her feet to herself. “I wouldn’t wash up, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Morris smiled at Linda in the rearview and wondered when she had been adopted as another daughter. He recalled meeting her the first time, six years ago, pissed off and painting. He’d gotten yellow paint spattered all over his brand new suit and shoes. One look at her, and he hadn’t been mad. He’s found out from Precocious later that her parents had informed her it was either college or her parents wouldn’t help her out. She’d left. Morris had been impressed at the move. Most teenagers, when they stormed out, left in a huge huff with a slamming back door and squealing tires. Linda had left quietly, packing her things methodically, and not pretending like she wanted to stay. She’d been angry, but she’d believed in herself. “I don’t think I’d recognize you without paint all over you.” He felt very good when Linda smiled at him in the mirror. She smiled like she realized he was trying to tell her that he was proud of her. He was glad she got it.

“Dad, are you taking us *there*?” Precocious pointed like a four-year-old.

Morris looked ahead at the glitzy, gold-trimmed building up ahead and to their right. “Yes, I am. I said the best place in town.”

“The food *sucks*.” Linda spoke with the knowledge of someone who had been there on numerous occasions. “I’ve had meetings there with art dealers. The food’s for shit.”

“Their desserts and wine are good.” Morris found a parking spot and pulled in. “And no one ever said dinner had to *be* dinner.”

“You’re the best dead *ever*.” Precocious jumped out of the car and ran around to loop her arm through Morris’s. “You know we’re going to get looked at funny.”

“Tell me something I couldn’t have guessed.” Morris wrapped his free arm around Linda as she stepped out of the car. “But if you’ve eaten here before, you could get us a good table.”

“No, I couldn’t.” Linda grinned a little sheepishly. “I may have told them that their food sucks. A lot. Like every time I’ve come in here.”

“All right. I’ll handle getting the table. You two just stand in a corner and be quiet while I do it.”

“Deal.” Precocious let go of Morris’s arm to open the main door of the restaurant. “After you, oh powerful one.”