Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Her face grim, she nods. “I guess I do.”
“No. I don’t want you going over and confronting that man. Anyone who’s willing to vandalize your car has lost his mind and is dangerous,” Judy says when we return from Mrs. Edison’s house and are eating the breakfast she made us. “Let the police deal with it.”
"I don't want to repeat what is written on the police blotter. I want to report a real story," Glory argues.
"You can't report on a story if you're dead,” Judy replies bluntly.
"Corby's going to be with me."
Her mom scowls. "His weapon is a pen, not a gun. What's he going to do? Type Toscati to death?"
It is on the tip of my tongue to joke I could write his name in a Death Note, but neither of them appear to be interested in my anime humor.
"Corby's from the big city. He's used to crime."
"Do you have a gun?" she asks.
"Not on me.”
“See?” Judy holds up my lack of weapon as proof that Glory will not come out of the encounter with Toscati alive. I feel my manhood is being impugned here.
“He doesn’t need a gun. This is Mark Toscati, an accountant. His biggest weapon is a calculator,” says Glory.
Judy harrumphs and crosses her arms, but Glory stares her mom down until finally, Judy shakes her finger in my direction. "If anything happens to Glory, I'm coming after you. A mom's anger is something terrible. You best beware.”
"Mooaaahhhmm," Glory groans.
"You have my solemn promise that should I ever allow Glory to get hurt, I will hand you the knife."
“Promise accepted.”
"I thought you wanted us to have kids," Glory says not so innocently. "How are we supposed to do that if you chop his balls off?"
"My balls?” I jokingly cover my groin. "I thought we were talking about a finger or two."
Glory giggles and Judy’s lips twitch involuntarily. "Get out, you two." She shoos us off.
"I'm surprised you didn't agree with Mom," Glory says as we climb into the car.
"You're a reporter, and I'm a writer. Cops seem very unnecessary here."
"Thank you for supporting me." She gives me a smile that warms me to my cock.
"Always." I force myself to turn away from the sunshine that is her gorgeous face and plant my eyes on the road. My cock and chest both ache, but it's a good kind of pain. It’s the kind that reminds you that you're still alive, the kind that makes you human because people aren't meant to be alone. I realize now that I didn't run away from the city, but I ran toward something. An unseen hand, a gravitational pull, whatever it might be called, drew me here to Glory. If I hadn’t ever had writer’s block, I still would’ve been locked in my penthouse in the city, writing. Instead, I was forced out of my routine and my comfort zone and found where real life begins.
"You're smiling." Glory interrupts my thoughts.
"I'm happy."
"Because we're about to confront Toscati?" She shifts in her seat, unable to hold still. She's like a fizzy bottle about to erupt, full of anticipation and excitement.
"For that and more."
"I wonder what he's going to say. Is he going to lie? Is he going to drop to his knees and confess?"
“The latter seems more accurate.” Mark Toscati seemed mild. Messy, but mild.
"You think so?" She pats her pockets. “I’ll need my recorder then. I want to get it all down accurately."
"The phone has a recording feature," I remind her.
"Right." She stops and puts her hands in her lap, but only for a minute before she starts fidgeting again. "I think I need some gum. Do you have any gum here?” She fumbles with the glove compartment before I can stop her. The lid pops up, and the black holstered weapon falls into her hands.
"You said you didn't have a gun!”
"I didn't have one on me,” I correct.
"Do you know how to shoot this thing?" She turns the weapon over in her hand.
"I've been to the range a few times." I don't share that I've been awarded marksmanship skill certificates because shooting in a controlled environment is one thing whereas shooting in a small town neighborhood is entirely different. Accidentally putting a bullet in a neighbor's house doesn't seem like a good impression to make on this community.
Toscati's Camry is parked in the driveway when we arrive. Glory slaps the gun in my hand and then tumbles out of the car. "Come on. Let's go get him."
I stare at the metal weapon. Does she want me to shoot him? I guess I can if that's what her plan is. I tuck the gun into my waistband and follow her to the front door.
She pounds on it, but there's no answer. She rings the doorbell a half dozen times and still gets no response. The dog is barking its head off, but either Toscati is absent or he doesn’t want to answer questions. Both are plausible, although given his schedule and the presence of his car, he’s likely trying to ignore us.