Larque on the Wing Read Online Free PDF Page B

He had to be the great white god of all cowboys.
    For some reason he seemed taken aback to see her there in his shop. He and the black-hat magnificent-ass man stood side by side staring at her.
    Or maybe it was just that she was staring at them. It took her a moment, but eventually she remembered why she was there. “’Scuse me,” she said, “have either of you seen a funny-looking little runaway girl? Me. Only a lot younger and skinnier.”
    The one in white opened his soft-lipped mouth soundlessly but just looked at her. The one in black said, “I’d try up the street a ways. Just keep looking.”
    His face was handsome and serious. His voice was low, with a soft burr in it, twilight-colored but somehow immensely reassuring. Larque felt blessed. “Thank you,” she whispered, and she rushed out, crossing to the opposite corner. Magic Makeover, that wasn’t a place Sky would go into. The New You Tattoo. Something called the Cop Shop, and something called Superheroes—Sky was not in there either. Larque worked her way clear to the end. A candy store with lottery machine, a comic book store, the Penis Place—
    Maybe it wasn’t so important to find the funny-looking girl in ugly clothes after all, because in a way Larque was finding Sky all the time. For instance, she remembered: the kid had always been really curious about penises. Never had much opportunity to see any.
    Nor did Larque the grownup, for that matter. For twenty years she had been faithful to Hoot. And, she felt certain, he to her. And he didn’t bring home Bimbos In The Buff magazine. So she didn’t bring home Raw Richard .
    But today was different somehow. The door stood wide open. There was nobody inside to embarrass Larque by watching her look. And what the hell did it matter anyway if somebody saw her in there? Nobody knew her here. Larque went in.
    â€œCan you imagine working in a dildo factory?” she asked Hoot at suppertime.
    â€œ Mom ,” Jeremy protested.
    â€œChrist, woman.” Hunched protectively over his plate as if somebody might grab his food, Hoot kept eating. When he was finished he would peer at the kids’ plates to see if he could grab anything of theirs. He claimed he had never lacked for sustenance as a child, but Larque wondered.
    Actually, a dildo factory was not conceptually too far removed from his present place of employment—right now he was troubleshooting for a woman who was starting up a string of beefcake nightclubs. Nor did Larque want him to get the idea of changing jobs again, which he did frequently, whenever he got bored. She amplified, “I don’t mean you. I mean, can you imagine being a woman working in one of those places? Surrounded by the things all day?”
    â€œWhat’s a dildo?” Rodd wanted to know.
    Jason was snickering too hard to tell him. Larque explained, “A plastic penis. Like, for fun and games. Battery-operated. Light-up. Can you imagine? There’s got to be a factory someplace that makes those things. I wonder if there’s one around here.”
    â€œLooking for a new job, Mom?” Jason teased.
    Larque made a face at him. She had come home without Sky, but knew that the next morning she would either have to face the blank paper on her easel again, or do just what Jason said, or find the girl.
    â€œWhat would you apply for?” Jason persisted. “Quality control, so you could inspect each and every one?”
    â€œForget it,” Hoot spoke up unexpectedly. “Those suckers spoil you for the real thing.”
    â€œOooh! Dad,” Jason teased, “jealous of those teninchers?”
    â€œSpeak for yourself, son.”
    Larque grinned. Hoot really was a smart man, always had been, despite his grunting Dutch ways.
    Rodd belched.
    â€œExcuse me.” To escape the usual postdinner sound effects emanating from her four family males, Larque went upstairs, where she sat idly in