Beau, Lee, The Bomb by Mary McKinley

Author:Mary McKinley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
ISBN: urn|ean|9781617732553
Publisher: Kensington Books

Nob Hill is an old part of San Fran, and the buildings are all brick and cobblestone and cool.

We finally find the street that has been our North Star and troll the block looking for parking. We see some eventually and get out, just intending to scope out the place.

We are almost there (with The Bomb on her leash) when we see this other guy with his dog. You can tell it’s a pretty old dog, and so we hold The Bomb back from getting too close.

They are just standing there, waiting for the old dog to dookie. They look bored, both the dude and his dog. The dog squats

finally. We politely look the other way, and the dude cleans it up with a bag.

“Good job, Sylvester! Good boy!” the guy tells him placidly. He throws the bag in a garbage can and uses some hand sanitizer from his pocket. Mission accomplished.

Sylvester wags briefly and lifts his leg on a phone pole. Then he sees The Bomb and loses it.

He starts barking and runs up to us on his expando-leash thing, then starts sniffing The Bomb.

He’s a Bomb-sniffing dog. Har.

We just stand there. The Bomb cringes submissively.

Then the old dog starts humping The Bomb. And she totally lets him.

Leonie screams and pulls The Bomb away in disgust. The other dog starts barking at her in a threatening way. Beau looks over to the guy.

“Hey, could you maybe get your dog?”

“Sylvester! No, no! Come here!” He pulls the leash so it starts to retract. “Right now, mister!”

He looks at us like it was somehow our fault. Instead of his nasty dog’s.

“Excuse me. Do you live in this building?” Beau asks him politely.

“Why?”

“Do you know anyone named Frankie Gales?”

He looks at us again. Hard.

I start to think, Oh no, please don’t you be Beau’s uncle.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I think he’s my uncle.”

The guy just coughs like he’s been punched lightly in the gut. Stands there, looking up.

“Okay,” he says after a minute. “Come inside.”

We follow him and Sylvester up the stairs to the third floor. We look at each other and shrug.

“Frank? I have a surprise for you,” the dude says as he opens the door to the apartment.

And standing there, we see a short, buff guy in a T-shirt and jeans, unpacking books onto a bookshelf. His T-shirt is black. His arms are ripped. He stops putting books away.

“Frank? Yes, well, these kids just blew in. Apparently, they’re looking for you.” The guy has kind of a snotty smile on his face when he says that, like he’s enjoying himself at the other dude’s expense. “You should probably check your messages soon.”

The short, ripped guy looks at us blankly. Beau speaks first.

“Hey . . . I’m Beau Gales. Are you my uncle Frankie?”

The short guy just stares at us all jaw-dropped. Gob-smacked.

The other dude snorts. “Ho-kay! I’ll just be in the kitchen washing my hands, Frankie.”

His tone makes us look at each other in a confused manner. What?

The ripped dude is still staring at us in amazement.

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