“...there are Girl Scouts at the door and they asked for you by name. Something about an unpaid debt. They have clubs...”....the deep red hue of the face plate on his DG30.
“Trampas Red!”
Les whispered under his breath.
A maniacal expression drew across his face.
He flicked the standby switch, struck a flat 9th chord.
“It’s alivvvveeeee!”
He screamed.
Mrs S walked into his underground lair and said.......