Fortunately, Linda and I had located two 12-gauge flare guns and a four-pack of flares. Hopefully, two flares each would prove more than ample.
Ensuring the “prisoner” was bound like a super villain ensnared in Wonder Woman"s lasso, I triple-checked the flare g*n, grabbed a beach towel advertising local beer, and waved Linda off. Once she informed him about the bomb, he"d likely prove no trouble. Maybe he"d even be inspired (angry enough) to spill all.
To stave off the increasingly cool temperature while awaiting Cholla Poniard"s return, I sat behind a palm with the fleecy towel draped around my shoulders.
An approaching car could be heard through whistling winds, I heard a car drive up and park. If I were melodramatic like my cousin, I"d have sing-songed that the moment of truth had ar
