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Back to Vegas, Part 4 (suspense, fiction)

July 21, 2011 - Burt Angeli
“Corky, whatever you do, don’t tell Ravenna where I am. You mention Vegas and I’m toast.”

Corky, our "on call" farmhand whose real name was Cieran O'Hanlon, a member of my mother-in-law's extensive Irish clan whose sympathetic ear and deft hand with a corkscrew (he could open a bottle quicker than one could say, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph may this day's troubles pass - at least long enough for me to enjoy this glass") as he tended to the patrons at Cousin Pat's County Cork Wine Bar, easily merited a sobriquet worthy of his illustrious occupation.

Cory grabbed a couple extra bucks for chores while I traveled to Las Vegas. Ravenna expected me to run the farm during her trip to Ireland.

“Corky, use your imagination when Ravenna calls. Tell her I’m in the barn tending to her prize llama or heading to town for supplies. Something like that should work for a couple days. I could be home by then.”

Corky mulled his options.

“That’ll cost you an extra $100.”

Before I could balk, Oslo came into the living room with a doughnut in hand and a big grin.

I gave Corky the OK but not a penny more.

“What’s so funny, O?”

“Your girl Barbie is out in the pool. I believe they still call it skinny dipping.”

After struggling to get off the couch, I jumped to my feet and headed to the pool.

“She just may need a lifeguard, O.”

That apparently wasn’t necessary. We heard the door click and Barbie enter wearing an oversized bath towel.

“That pool is awesome. I’m ready for the day. Can I make you guys some breakfast?”

Oslo and I usually headed to the local fast-food place for morning dining. For that matter, afternoon and evening, too.

“We’re OK. Go ahead and feed Bianca whatever you can find in the kitchen.”

Barbie cracked a couple eggs and asked to me to call for Bianca.

I was about to head for her room when Oslo told me to save my steps.

“The kid’s gone.”

(To be continued) 

 
 

 

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