Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (warren buffett book recommendations .txt) 📕

drive. She’d simply held my hand and glanced out the window. I think she had a bit of pre-game jitters. Or maybe she was more scared of heights than she let on. “One year, it got rained out, or the wind was too strong, I can’t remember. We ended up going to see a movie at the theater in town.”

“Do you remember what movie?”

She wrinkled her nose, something I noticed she did when she was thinking, and said, “The Adam’s Family.”

“Really? I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I only remember because I started the seventh grade a month later and I wore my hair in pigtails like Wednesday.”

We stopped walking and I pulled her hair to both sides, making mock pigtails. “Maybe we can try that again sometime.”

“That’s your fantasy, huh? Wednesday from The Adam’s Family?” She punched me in the shoulder. “You sicko.”

“You know my fantasy.”

“I know, Selene from Underworld.” She smiled. “I told you I’m working on it.”

I punched her in the shoulder. “Thatta girl.”

She’d yet to tell me her fantasy and I said, “I know you have one. Just tell me already.”

She sighed. Glanced at me. Nearly spoke. Blushed. Sighed again. “I don’t even know where it came from,” she said.

“Just tell me. I’ll take it to the grave with me.”

“Like when the balloon crashes with us in it.”

“The balloon isn’t going to crash. They are very safe.”

“How would you know?”

She was right. I’d never been in a hot air balloon. I’d never even been near one. “You ever hear about someone crashing in a hot air balloon?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“After I found out we were coming here, I searched videos on the internet and watched about twenty videos of hot air balloons crashing.”

I laughed, pulled her to my side and gave her a kiss on the side of the head.

“What was that for?”

I shrugged, then said, “Now tell me your fantasy.”

She took a deep breath, then said, “You know the actor Val Kilmer?”

“Of course,” I said, grinning. “What is it? Ice Man? Please tell me it’s him as Ice Man! And why would you be ashamed of that!?”

“I know how happy that would make you, but no, not Ice Man.”

“Him as Batman?”

“Strike two.”

“Doc Holliday?”

“Nope”

“Him as Jim Morrison? That’s got to be it.”

She shook her head and said, “Think more recent.”

I didn’t recall Val Kilmer having any title roles in the last decade, let alone anything that would get a girl’s motor running.

I was a detective.

I should be able to figure this out.

Val Kilmer.

And she was ashamed of it.

I stared at her, my eyes doubling in size. “No!”

She dropped her head.

I screeched, “Fat Val Kilmer!?!”

Keeping her head down, she nodded.

I let loose a giant laugh. “You have a thing for Fat Val Kilmer!?”

And then I realized why she was ashamed. Why she didn’t want to tell me.

I looked myself up and down. I said, “Please tell me—”

She looked up. She was biting her bottom lip. “When I first saw you—”

I screamed, “I reminded you of Fat Val Kilmer!?”

She nodded.

I burst out laughing.

Pretty soon the both of us were laughing so hard that two groups stopped walking and turned around.

It felt good. It helped assuage some of my fury. And some of my guilt. About what I would have to do next.

We wended our way through the barrage of spectators to the sectioned-off portion where the pilots were readying their balloons. The employees working the event all had red T-shirts on with a yellow and blue hot air balloon on the front. On the back it read “33rd Annual Pershing Hot Air Balloon Derby.”

Two of these employees were sitting behind a small table, and I gave them my name. They checked a printout then handed over two plastic nametags and lanyards. It’d been awhile since I’d worn one, not since the last FBI task force I was a part of.

“When’s the last time you wore one of these?” I asked Wheeler.

She pulled the lanyard over her head and said, “I went to a conference last year in Ohio. Future of Veterinary Technology.”

“You’re a vet?” asked the woman who’d handed us the badges.

Wheeler nodded and the woman asked a quick question about which dog food she should be giving her two-year-old labradoodle.

Wheeler told her a couple of her favorite brands, which the woman scribbled on a piece of paper. Then Wheeler asked the woman, “Has anyone ever gotten hurt on one of these?”

“Not here. Only had one balloon crash in thirty-three years and no one got hurt. But I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small risk.”

“What about that storm?” Wheeler pointed toward the approaching clouds.

“We’re keeping an eye on things. It’s still a hundred miles off according to our resident meteorologist. You should be back down well before then. And if it does come close, your pilot will be notified and he’ll get you down.”

Wheeler thanked her, then we made our way toward the many tents and balloons.

“What’s a labradoodle?” I asked.

“A Labrador and poodle mix.” She said it all nearly as one word. She was nervous.

I said, “You don’t have to go. We don’t have to do this now.” It had been a week and a half since the powwow at Simon Beach.

“Yes, we do. And yes, I do.”

And we left it at that.

The balloons were staged thirty yards from one another. About half were assembled, filled, their patterned designs and bright colors reaching sixty feet into the air. The other half were on their sides, being attached to baskets or tended to in some way.

We bypassed a balloon that was yellow and blue. Then a purple balloon with white stars. Then one with vertical stripes of several different colors. Another balloon was checkered in every color of the rainbow. Finally, near the center, we came to a balloon that had red, black, and white zigzagging stripes.

There was a loud roar as the man in the basket released a barrage of fire and the balloon pulled against its tethers.

“Jerry!” I shouted.

He turned around. Smiled. Turned down the