Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(79)

“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “At least he didn’t bite you.” I catch Matt’s and Coop’s looks. At any other time, with any other person, we’d be screaming with laughter right now. Just like Hunter and Leyna are doing at the window.

But this is Uncle Doug we’re talking about. And he is royally steamed. And he is three times my size. And he could snap us all in half in the blink of an eye.

Uncle Doug closes his eyes. He takes a deep, deep breath, his hand strangling the filthy rag. “Okay,” he says. “I need a smoke. And I need it now.”

“Your cigarettes.” I dart over to the workbench and grab his pack of American Spirits. “They’re fine. They’re not wet. See? You put them down over here. They’re safe.”

Uncle Doug slowly opens his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. A cigarette is not going to be strong enough. Not by a moon shot. Uncle Doug needs to forget this little . . . incident. In fact, we’re all going to forget this.” He waves his hand in the air. “Wipe it from our hard drives, so to speak. Understand?”

We all nod vigorously, though I can tell by the expression on Leyna’s and Hunter’s faces that they’re never going to forget this.

“If Uncle Doug ever finds out that anyone else has found out about this”— he laughs, but in a really scary way —“well, let’s just say the person who leaked it will regret they were ever placed on this little planet we call Earth. Are we crystal on this point?”

Suddenly Leyna and Hunter don’t look quite as amused anymore. And Coop totally ignores the “leaked it” bait. The five of us nod like bobblehead dolls in an earthquake.

Uncle Doug takes another deep breath. “All right. Good. Now, you guys go upstairs and take my sausages out of the oven. I’m going to take fifteen in my trailer.”

And just as I’m starting to relax, feeling like we dodged a major laser blast . . .

There’s a loud thumping at the front door.

Matt, Coop, and me whip our heads around toward the stairs.

My stomach plunges hard. Because there’s only one person in the world I know who knocks like that.





“HEY, HO,” I SAY AS I OPEN the door to see Nick and Evelyn standing there. “You guys are early. That’s . . . great. Excellent. Come on in.” I quickly usher them inside and close the door just as Leyna and Hunter are walking by behind them. Coop stalled them just long enough, thank God.

“I saw you were already here.” Nick laughs. “Not that I’m keeping watch or anything. But we figured, might as well join you, right? You know, in case you needed help setting up.”

“No, that’s . . .” My chest feels like it’s going to cave in. “It’s all good. We were just . . . shooting a scene with Uncle Doug. By himself. You know. Alone. And, uh . . . But . . . Anyway. It’s good you’re here because lunch is just about ready. The others should be here in around twenty.”

A short while later and we’re all crammed into Uncle Doug’s tiny dining room — Nick, Evelyn, Val, Helen, Matt, Coop, and me. We’re still waiting on Pete and Tony, but Uncle Doug said we should just eat and they can join us when they get here.

“Start. Start,” Uncle Doug calls from the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Nick grabs hold of the sloppy bun with two hands and somehow manages to shove half of the sausage into his mouth, the chili spilling all over his hands and pitter-pattering onto his plate.

“Guess I’m off my diet today.” Coop follows Nick’s lead and goes for the hand-to-mouth method while Matt, Val, Helen, Evelyn, and me opt for our forks and knives.

I don’t know if it’s the stress of this whole situation or what, but I am absolutely ravenous. Still, I’m a bit wary of my uncle’s gloppy concoction. Beyond the fact that he keeps calling them his Dirty Dogs, there’s something about them — the shriveled sausages, the dark chili sauce, the Day-Glo Cheez Whiz — that looks . . . unappetizing.

I cautiously cut off a small bite, give it a quick sniff — lots of spice, pork, tomatoes, a hint of coffee — and then slide the goopy mess into my mouth.

It tastes pretty good, actually, and before I know it I’m eating way too fast and washing down mouthful after mouthful with generous gulps of tropical punch Kool-Aid, which, oddly enough, is the only drink — besides beer and whiskey — that Uncle Doug has in the house.

“Guess who we saw at Starbucks?” Helen asks out of the blue.

“Who’s that?” Coop says through a mouthful of chili-cheese chorizo.

“Miss Boobalas.” Valerie pushes a kidney bean around the plate with her fork. “Remember her? Bursting out of her dress at the auditions.”

Evelyn sits up like a meerkat that’s heard a hawk. “Oh, yeah. The sloppy strumpet.”

Coop forces a smile. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure you do,” Helen says. “You couldn’t take your eyes off her.”

“Or, a certain part of her,” Valerie adds.

Matt just starts shoveling food in his mouth like it’s his job.

Coop, on the other hand, rolls his eyes. “Okay, look. We’ve apologized for that. Matt and I even took you girls out for ice cream as a show of our deepest regret for our appallingly caveman-like behavior. So do we never get to hear the end of this?”