Like Grownups Do by Nathan Roden Read Free Book Online Page B

He regained his footing and ran from the room as fast as he could move.
    Babe started after him and then stopped. He opened his mouth to call after Joe and once again, he stopped. He didn’t know what to do.
     
    “Jesus, Babe. You fucking dumbass,” he muttered out loud.
    He sat down hard on the edge of the bed.
    What the hell are you thinking? He’s a puppy for Christ’s sake. Twenty four hours ago he was a homeless BABY, probably because he chewed up some other fucker’s fourteen dollar slippers, and you bring him home and SCOLD him. Ignorant asshole.
    Ok, ok, ok, ok .
    Babe had always been very hard on himself. And his inner-self used a lot of foul language.
     
    “Joe. I’m sorry, Joe. Where did you go, boy. Come on, boy, I’m sorry,” Babe said, as he crept from room to room. “I’m sorry, buddy. It’s going to be okay. Where did you go?”
    He found Joe in the laundry room between the washer and dryer, trembling. Babe got down on one knee.
    “Jesus, Joe, I’m sorry. Come on out,” Babe said, holding out a hand.
    Joe began to crawl out.
    “That’s a good boy. I’m sorry, Joe.”
    As soon as Babe said the name ‘Joe’, the dog turned and scrambled back to his hiding place.
    What the …
    Babe smirked and then shook his head.
     
    ‘Joe’ sounds like ‘no’, which is probably what the puppy had heard screamed at him before he had been abandoned.
     
    Isn’t this just great? Excellent job there, Babelton. Babe the Great—Rescuer of Abandoned Animals; Feed the homeless puppy and then bring him home and terrorize him. While you’re at it, why don’t you give him a name that makes him piss himself?
     
    “I’m sorry, boy. I’m not going to yell at you and I’m not going to hurt you. Can I have another chance? Come on out, boy. Come on, Mr. Pendleton. “
    The puppy crawled out, and licked Babe on the toe. Babe scratched him behind the ear and then took his head in both hands and kissed him on the bridge of his nose.
    “Let’s see if Dad is up yet.”
     

 

    Seven
     
     
    G raham Stemple groaned as he rolled from his side onto his back in the middle of the king-sized four-poster bed. The house phone rang into his left ear. His wife left the bed for the sanctuary of the den hours ago. She would be of no help, since she was forbidden to answer the phone when Graham was home. He winced slightly as he reached toward the phone on the bedside table. As usual, the number showed up as “anonymous”.
     
    “Stemple,” he growled into the receiver.
    “It sounds like we’ve had a rough night, Mr. Stemple,” Dante Vlada said.
    Just who I didn’t want to hear from this morning, Graham Stemple thought, though it wasn’t as if he ever looked forward to hearing from Dante Vlada. He preferred the means of communication they had used for years which involved him decrypting Vlada’s messages, destroying them, and then carrying out whatever mission Vlada had given him. This was followed by his receipt of large sums of laundered cash, which he promptly wired to the offshore accounts that held his off-the-record and virtually untouched fortune.
     
    That “fortune” he planned to tap into early next year after he arranged the elimination of the stupid bitch that was now piddling around in the kitchen. He had narrowed his search to a few South American or Latin American countries where he would relocate and retire, but his body was trying to sabotage his plans. He had ignored the pain in his gut and the blood in the toilet longer than he should have on the grounds that it was simply not fair. He was so close to his ultimate goal, which was to live independently wealthy and free in a tropical paradise without a care in the world.
     
    “What do you want, Vlada? Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten that I’m no longer with the Bureau?” Stemple asked, his temper simmering along with the sweat that poured from his forehead. He was in enough pain that it was overriding the fear that he had of Vlada