Joy
“Young master, it’s time to go,” Mr. Spirko said. I couldn’t decide if he was scary, or just loveable because he was so weird. He was big. Not as tall as Mr. Falcon, but muscular. Like a bulldog. In fact, his face kind of reminded me of a bulldog too, as he never smiled, his eyes looked a little droopy under his bushy eyebrows, and his nose was kind of flat.
He was supposed to be the butler, but I had a feeling he was more like a body guard. Most of the time he was silent and broody and watching, always watching. And he always called Alex Young Master instead of using his given name.
“Why does he call you that?” I asked as we buckled into the back seat of one of Mr. Falcon’s fancy cars.
“I dunno,” Alex shrugged carelessly, “he always calls me that. I think he’s just old fashioned.
