Harvey groaned. "I can't believe she's gone legit. Uppity wench."
Jillie didn't even bother looking up. "It's just a restaurant job, Harv."
"Whatever. Anyway, prep cook and legit don't usually go in the same sentence. Besides, what did you expect her to do? Sit around and crochet? Watch the Food Network and re-runs of Law & Order and Glee until the next questionably legal food truck came along to break her heart?" Jillie contemplated the thin film of grease on the loosely termed sanitizer bucket and shrugged before dunking her rag back in.
"I expected her to wait!" He started rummaging under the passenger seat for his flask. Wadded up maps, parking tickets, and gum wrappers rained into the back of the truck. Jillie dodged as an Altoids tinned flew in a wobbly trajectory past her head. "Fuckin' shop doesn't even have wheels. And they sell fish and chips. Fish and chips!" Harvey slammed his fist on the dashboard and took a long pull on the flask. "What kind o' self-respecting pizza joint sells fish n' chips?"
Jillie stared holes in the counter as she spread the fryer grease around in the name of sanitation, muttering, "The same kind of self-respecting chip wagon that sells deep fried spring rolls?"
Cap'n Harvey's head whipped around. "What was that, lass?"
"I'm sure she'll be back. After all, she's working just down the street from that pub you--"
The truck lurched into gear, spraying gravel and slopping greasy water all over Jillie's shoes. "Strap in, lass! I'm a sea dog on a mission!".
Clinging to every available support, Jillie made her way to the front of the truck. Settling in, she reached for the flask and got her hand slapped for her trouble. "Dare I ask where we're going?"
"Just goin' to have a friendly chat with a gentleman of I know. I think he might be able to persuade her to come back to us. Besides, I need a drink."
Jillie closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "Gary. Great. Like she needs more stress."