Casual Rex
A Novel
Improvisation is the modus operandi when you work with Ernie Watson. "You doin' okay, kid?" he asks me, and all I can do is mumble back a reply — shag piling pressing up and into my mouth, my nostrils—as I'm momentarily assaulted by the stench of six thousand pairs of shoes and one incontinent household pet. "Stay down — I almost got the damn thing."
As an insistent burglar alarm whines away in the background, Ernie fumbles with the system's plastic keypad, doing his best to shut the contraption up, or at least send it to a better place. Ten seconds have passed, and in twenty more we're as good as bait for the neighborhood security patrol. Fortunately, they don't carry weapons. At least I think they don't carry weapons.
"The code," I say. "Put it in already."
"I did — "
"You didn't. It's still beeping."
"I did. And it's wrong. The code's wrong."
A leap to my feet — Bruno Maglis today, clearly the inappropriate attire when one is breaking and entering, but at eight a.m. this morning I expected a n ...
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