The Maine Events (Allen Crane Book 1) by Rodney Riesel

Author:Rodney Riesel [Riesel, Rodney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Island Holiday Publishing
Published: 2021-05-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Allen opened his eyes at six fifteen Friday morning. He was lying in his bed. Frankie was curled up on the sofa. He rolled over onto his back, and after a yawn and a few stretches, he got up and lumbered to the bathroom. When he walked out of the bathroom, Frankie was waiting patiently by the door.

“Gotta poop?” Allen asked the dog. He walked to the door and pulled it open. “Ya think you can go by yourself?”

Frankie walked outside, turned around, and waited.

Allen looked down at his boxers. “Hold on,” he groaned. “Let me put on some pants.”

Walking around to the side of the bed, Allen bent over and picked up the dress shirt he'd wore the night before and put it on, along with some jeans. Barefoot, he stepped outside.

“Come on, dog.”

Allen opened the door at the end of the walkway and Frankie bounded down the stairs. He waited patiently at the office door. Allen pushed open the door, and Frankie sprinted for the grass.

“There ya go,” Allen grumbled. “Write if ya find work.” He stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Donnie was sitting in the same spot he was the night before. He wore flannel pajamas, and a matching red robe. His glass of wine had been replaced with a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Donnie,” said Allen. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “You haven't been there all night, have you?”

“Morning, Blue Eyes,” Donnie replied. “And, no, I just walked out here.”

“How's the lip?”

Donnie reached up and gently tapped his lip with his fingertip. “The swelling went down. Only hurts when I laugh.”

“Reminds me of a joke. Kid runs up to his dad and says, 'Dad, Mom just got hit by a bus.' The dad winces in pain and says, 'Son, you know I have a cold sore.'”

Donnie chuckled. “Ouch! That's horrible. Don't do that.”

“Sorry,” Allen said. “I couldn't resist.”

Donnie checked his scab for blood. There was none.

Coffee?” Donnie asked.

“No thanks. I gotta get writing.”

The door to room four opened, and Jacob stuck his head out. “Hey, Allen,” he said.

“Mornin', Jacob,” Allen said.

“Can I get my money?”

“Sure.”

“What money?” Donnie asked.

Jacob stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

“For watching my dog,” said Allen. “What do I owe you?”

Frankie finished his business and ran to Jacob's side.

“Let's see,” Jacob said, doing the math in his head, “watching Frankie the last two times. Twenty each. That's forty bucks.”

“Forty bucks!” said Donnie. “Looks like I'm in the wrong line of work.”

“Jacob, this is Donnie Peppitone. Donnie, Jacob Palmer.”

“It's nice to meet you, young man,” said Donnie.

Jacob nodded. “You too,” he said. “What happened to your face?”

“I was involved in a scuffle.”

“Was it a hate crime?”

Donnie cocked his head. His eyes went from Jacob to Allen, and back. “A hate crime? What makes you say that?”

“Well, 'cause you're gay.”

Donnie locked eyes with the boy and adopted on a serious tone. “What makes you think I'm gay?”

“Well, I … I just meant—”

“Do I speak gay?” Donnie demanded. “Do I

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