When he finished checking the bottles, he’d mark each label with a tiny, inconspicuous dot of permanent ink. And then he’d know they were safe to drink, when he returned here to spend the night after everyone was gone. Sarge’s duty was here at the hospital. Sandy was safely home now. Mission completed there.
But that boy was still upstairs. Only ten years old. They were trying to take his leg.
Troubled? You betcha. Hero in his own mind? Absolutely. Villain? Dangerous?
Hmmm . . . you'll have to wait to see. Me too. I'm only HALFWAY through the first draft.Meanwhile, anyone want to try the moustache?