The Twins that Want to Cook

The Children That Want to Cook

     "Okay, champs, thanks for happily lending a hand to us this fine ass morning."
     Mr. Locke, my boss, grunted when he slumped into a too expensive desk chair.
     Happily.
     I held my tongue. This better be worth it. I don't need the honor of reporting yet another baby-saving cat, or yet another fat middle-aged man who got stuck on the subway.
     "There are these rather peculiar people on the Southern side of town that may need some attention." Locke's double chin extended when he bobbed his head up and down and up and down.
     "Please! No more ho-bos! I'm so good damn sick of 'em."
     Trevor. He was always able to bitch when I couldn't. In a way I'm grateful that he can say what I'm thinking. I mumbled in agreement.
     "Chill out ladies," Locke drawled, "you're actually going to their house! Wow!"
     A getting escaped his fat mouth.
     "Tom, control the situation while you're there please?"
     "Yes, sir." I sighed, trying so hard to sound respectful.