Steve waved his arms. “How do you take such a great movie and make a boring game out of it. Boooooring!”
This was the Steve Brussard Jack had grown to like over the past few years—funny, kind of loud, and very opinionated.
“And who designed ET? He looked like a pile of green Legos.”
Steve shook his head. “Enough to drive you to drink.”
Uh-oh.
Jack landed a friendly punch on his shoulder. “Come on. We had laughs without any of that.”
“Yeah, but we’d’ve had more with a toot or two. But it turns out you were right.”
“About what?”
“The booze. My old man asked me today if I’d been ‘sampling’ any of it.”
“What’d you tel him?”
He grinned. “‘Who,
“Which means you need to stay away from it—unless you’re looking to get busted.”
Jack hated sounding like Steve’s conscience, but he didn’t mean it that way. He was talking common sense here. When you see someone heading for
the edge of a cliff, you warn him.
“I
“But what if he hadn’t?”
Steve grinned. “Wel then—different story.”
“Wel , then, maybe it’s a good thing it’s locked.”
“Wait,” Steve said, stopping and looking at him. “You think I’ve got some kind of drinking problem?”
Jack hesitated, then went ahead. “Wel , you’ve been hitting it pretty hard.” “There’s no problem, Jack. I just like it, is al . I can stop anytime I want.” Jack decided to back off. He wasn’t getting through anyway.
They resumed their journey toward Steve’s house—maybe tonight they’d make some real progress on the Heathkit—and were just crossing Quakerton
Road when Steve pointed off to their left.
“You see that?”
Jack fol owed his point but saw nothing.
“What?”
“A guy walking toward the lake. Looked like my dad.”
Real y …?
Jack looked again. Streetlights were few and far between in Johnson so it might be a while before whoever it was passed under another.
“Does he go out for walks much?”
“Hardly ever.”
“Probably not him then. But just for the heck of it, why don’t we fol ow and see?”
Because if it was Mr. Brussard, Jack wanted to know what he was up to.
His stomach tingled as they hung a left and hurried along. Tracking an unsuspecting man … kind of cool.
Then a strol ing figure passed under a light ahead.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Steve said. “Let’s catch up.”
Jack spotted a light in Steve’s eyes. He seemed to real y like his dad.
Jack felt a growing sense of disappointment. Mr. B wasn’t doing anything other than walking. Looked like he was heading for Old Town, most likely to
the Lodge.
They were getting closer as he came to the Old Town bridge, but instead of crossing over he veered right.
Interesting.
Quaker Lake was real y a pond, but “lake” sounded better with Quaker. It had a sort of dumbbel shape with the bridge crossing the narrow point. Mr.
Brussard stood on the bank of the south section, staring across at the Lodge on the far side.
As they approached Jack saw him reach into a pants pocket, pul something out, and throw it into the lake.
Whoa! What was that al about?
Jack mental y marked the location of the splash. He might want to come back sometime.
