jesus christ, boy detective: it’s a small world afterall j. bradley
Timmy Hightower squirms in his window seat, seat belt cinched around his waist. He looks out the window, staring as the wing slightly wobbles and shakes. Timmy grips his armrest and turns to Leopold. “Uncle Leo, is the wing...is it supposed to be doing that?” Leopold Franz closes the SkyMall catalog, places it in the pouch in the seat in front of him and turns to Timmy. “Haven’t you...flown before?” “Not like this.” “Relax. Besides...if something were to happen...it wouldn’t be as bad as how you died...the first time.” *** The humidity punches Timmy and Leopold as they walk up the ramp, out the open door of Gate 14, through roving packs of families, cheerleading squads, business travelers toward the tram. “Why...are we here again,” Leopold asks between the 106