131 Escort service

Fixation, obsession, illness – for the moment it was deemed a necessary talent baby Drew’s mother had for translating the other baby. As soon as she set the cake down, the Sourpuss Ninja grabbed Huancho de la Vega, the Good Hustle Ninja, and they flew at warp speed over narrow, leafy streets of Ross and San Anselmo to the crumbling Guss abode in the heart of the American middle class ideal. They ignored the rapturous give-and-take which was, technically, adulterous, transpiring upstairs, and grabbed the only viable Mrs. Guss in town, given Granny Guss’s stuck-in-the-mud widowhood and Aunt Kar’s marriage unto nothing.
“Abate, baby,” the Sourpuss Ninja said, rather hip like the Fairfax musician she’d been in disguise.
“I thin’ joo say ‘Snap out of it.’ I thin’.”
“Baby Drew needs his mother,” they said in unison. Perhaps the scenic flight – the hills and trees and small ravines, smaller creeks, and a few dry yet exuberant meadows were lovely – would effect a remission of her severe schizophrenic condition.
“You’ll like your boy’s new little friend . . .”
“‘Say hello to my l’il frien’!” chortled the Good Hustle Ninja, only to be met with a stern, disapproving, even sour look from his colleague.
“A nice little boy, you’ll see,” resumed the Sourpuss Ninja, “and you and he have something special in common, special and urgently useful. Do you understand any of this?”
“Usted entiende?” Huancho de la Vega reiterated.
They thought Drew’s mother nodded as though she did understand.
“Nothing like breaking the sound barrier over Phoenix Lake to make those neuroleptic meds take hold! How do you feel, Mrs. Guss?”
“Like a million,” the bestower of life to baby Drew answered, with a fluency that could only come from practice.


One Response to “131 Escort service”

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