FuBaR sprang to his feet like a jack-in-the-box held captive for at least a decade. Upright the boy seemed to tower above me. Keeping my distance, I decided not to return my 1911 to its comfortable home. Slowly, I sized the kid up. He had to be at LEAST 6 foot tall, his bean-pole silhouette casting a long slender shadow on the floor beneath my feet.
“Tell me one thing Fubie” I barked pointing my 1911 at his clown-like feet. “What do I need to know about Rooks these days…”
“Well…” he didn’t have time to remark.
“Feed me any BS and the big toe gets it!”
“…”
Seeing that I may have stirred the subject a bit I reached for the breast pocket of my suit jacket. FuBaR began grinding his teeth. “No no no no young man” I said as I produced a flask from its cozy hiding place. “You need not worry son. We are olives of the same branch.” I lifted the flask to FuBaR inviting him to drink.
“Thank you…”
“Reilly…. Sidney is the name”
FuBaR gulped a healthy chug of the Grey Goose vodka. “Thanks Sid.”
“Listen kid. I want you to be straight up with me now ya hear? I am heading back to Rookland after a long absence and you need to fill me in on a few details.”
“OK…”
“It is important that I know the answer to three simple things before I leave here today.”
………………
