Wait! What? Terrorists? What had she gotten herself into? Kandi wasn’t a superhero. She couldn’t bend steel with her bare hands, and she wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet. She’s Doctor Doolittle. She talks to the animals and occasionally the dead.
Dad’s and Harry’s faces hardened into grim masks as three big, dirty bikers armed with sawed-off shotguns charged into the restaurant. They smelled like they hadn’t bathed in the last six years. Their badly stained tee-shirts were crawling with flies.
The two older bikers stormed up to the cashier. The third biker stood guard at the door and grinned like a fool when he spotted my parents. “Santa’s got a hot elf.”
“Get under the table, Margaret.”
“What? Why?” Mom was clueless as usual.
“The place is being robbed by some very naughty men,” I answered.
Mom shook her head sadly. “Naughty boys don’t get Christmas cookies.” She scrambled under the table and pulled out her cellphone. “Maybe some Christmas music would help.”
Harry shot her a narrow, sidelong glance of disbelief.
Dad took the phone away from her.
I linked with Tinkerbell. “Diversion.”
She gave me a doggie grin, slid down my leg and commando crawled under the tables.
Evidently the lookout had been smoking way too much wacky tobaccky because it took him a good minute to shout, “Get your hands up and don’t move.”
Dad, Hank and I raised our hands.
My eyes widened in surprise when I noticed the other two bikers were busily stuffing their faces with chips and salsa. Guess they had the munchies.
Harry whispered, “Ya think they forgot they’re robbing the place?”
My dad shrugged.
The minute the chips were gone, the head doofus yelled, “Give me the fucking money or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”
The terrified cashier fumbled with the drawer.
The Yorkie let out a ferocious growl.
The lookout just blinked.
“One more time Tinkerbell.”
The Yorkie did her best impression of a rabid coyote.
The lookout gave a startled yelp, opened the door and peered out. “Ain’t no bears in Phoenix, is there?”
A feral grin curved my father’s mouth as he grabbed the glass salt and pepper shakers off the table and threw them in quick succession.
Thunk! Thunk! The shakers nailed the two older bikers in the head, and they toppled over like poleaxed steers.
“Hey! You can’t do that!” The lookout swung his shotgun toward us.
Tinkerbell jumped up and latched onto his balls. Grrr. Grrr. Grrr.
“Aiieeeee! Aiieeeee! Aiieeeee!” The lookout did a funky, chicken dance and fired wildly. Several big holes appeared in the wall.
Prize Two - Book Bundle
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