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Thirdborn: The Journy Accross, Chapter 1a
It was midnight when two men approached Bennington Mall. The younger of the two wore a black jacket and green sunglasses while the elder, who was smoking from a pipe, was clad in a long brown coat. There was a barricade in the parking lot, but the gaping three-story hole that had been torn into the mall could still be seen.
“Identify yourselves,” an officer said as they approached the barricade.
“Louis Judah Gabriel,” the younger man answered. “Bail enforcement and fugitive recovery.”
The elder followed suit. “Cyrus Brightside, private investigator. We came as soon as we heard the distress call.”
“A hunter and a private eye
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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