My Friend Indian Daddy
“Mornin’, Aunt Flora,” she muttered as she walked past the table and straight to the counter where the coffee pot sat waiting.Her aunt said nothing while Roxie poured the magic brown tonic into a coffee mug. Aunt Flora sat at the kitchen table, patiently tapping the ashes from her cigarette into a ceramic ashtray that Roxie had once made for her at Girl Scout camp a long time ago. Roxie skipped the cream and sugar. Straight-up black seemed best at the moment. She set her coffee mug on the table. The coast is clear. The only concern she has, is she can’t remember if the door swung open freely, or if it creaked. It will just have to be a chance that she takes. Her hand gently lands on the knob. She takes a deep breath, ready to run should the door make noise. She turns her wrists...Nothing.The knob doesn’t turn. The door doesn’t move. It’s...“Locked,” Zayne’s voice carries heavily through the silence. “Every pet fucks up some time,” he says evenly. “It’s always best they do it early on. And you, my son, tall for your eight years, handsome, with dark hair, and dressed elegantly, wearing an affectionate smile, you went to your grandparents and greeted them as if you had known them all of a lifetime. Your words carried emotion when you approached my mother, kissed her on the cheek and asked, "How are you dear Grandma", while turning around to shake my father's hand with yours and asked, "And you, how are you Grandpa"The polite attitude and gentle presence of their grandson seemed. He saw Steve next and suddenly we were Company men, well subject to completing the first job in a satisfactory manner, We were moderately shocked at our first job, I had a high powered Air Rifle with telescopic sights and tranquilliser darts which Steve carried in his Trombone case, and a photograph of a Simone Mignon, our target for today We found a position in the John Glen municipal park hidden by trees yet with clear view of the path from the Library to the Halls of residence where Simone.
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