Phillip, like Daddy, listened until I finished. Looked at the photos of the three Angstrom sheets. Ghost sheets. The picture I’d taken of the open f...le drawer. Reached for his cell. I got up to leave, but he held up his hand. I sat back down.“Morgan, can you see Winter Jennings and me?” Morgan Fleetwood. State Department. But probably connected elsewhere.Listened.“Right away. Immediately.”He handed me the phone and I recited the sorry little tale for the fourth time. Bulldog, Daddy, Phillip.I. " She held it up in the light, showing off a glassy dark jewel set into what I assumed was silver."What is it?" Good luck charm, apparently." She unclasped the chain and handed it to me. "Kinda cool, though, right?" I took it in my hand, examining it closely. A tiny inscription on the inside read: MAY THE PLEASURES OF YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE."Huh. Onyx?" Obsidian. Got it at the pawn on the ground floor around the block--where you sold your class ring when we moved here. Guess how much?" Fifty," I. I licked my lips, knowing something that I wanted to taste.“So, ladies, got the impression of me both for security and for sex?” She jumped onto the edge of her desk and gave an interesting upskirt pose, still in what I wasn’t sure was properly called a bra. I was guessing that her boobs were larger than I had imagined.Hoarsely, I muttered, “Those stockings are just sheer enough to tell me you have delightfully tight thighs, but I want to see more.”“See? Feel, lick, whatever. The two of you. He could hear the big drops splattering in the elm tree outside his window, with the rising hissing, sound of the increasing rain rushing down through the cottonwood trees beyond. Chilled air through the window began smelling of sweet elm sap. He marvelled at all he could hear and smell and taste. He savored this new experience.Coast rain was nothing like this. Coast rain was either a chill, grey wet or a warm, green damp. Here on the east side, the only green was the blue-green of the.
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