“Think he’ll buy it?”

“He wouldn’t have to buy it if you hadn’t parked in front of a fire hydrant eighty-seven times,” Gus said. “I can’t believe I’m going to die because you wanted to flirt with a waitress.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Shawn said.

“It’s not ironic at all,” Gus said.

“Dude, it’s so like a black fly in your chardonnay.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that’s not ironic, either?”

“Rain on your wedding day?”

“‘Irony’ is the use of words to convey a meaning that’s opposite to their literal meaning,” Gus said. “That stupid song came out fourteen years ago, and we still have this exact conversation at least once a week.”

“Yeah,” Shawn said. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

Gus threw his hands up in despair-and felt hot metal just above his head. A quick glance confirmed his fear. The shotgun’s barrel was pointing down at them. All the way at the other end of the gun, the potatoes gave them a cheery smile.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed having music in this place,” he said. “After I kill you, I’m going to buy a radio.”

Gus grabbed the gun barrel and pulled. He nearly screamed in pain as the blazing metal burned his hands, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Run, Shawn,” he said. “One of us has to keep on living.”

Shawn didn’t move. “I can’t leave you here to die. Not when it’s at least a small part my fault that you’re here in the first place.”

“A small part!”

“Okay, since you’re giving up your life to save me, I’ll let you have this one-it’s all my fault. Shake on it?” Shawn extended an open hand to Gus.

“My hands are a little busy here,” Gus said. Above them, the potatoes was yanking on the gun’s barrel, trying to get it away from him.

“I’m not leaving until we shake hands,” Shawn said.