The Counterfeit Father: A Tony Pandy Mystery (Book 1)
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#$%#?
“That’s right. Go get me a drink.”
Bony scrambled across the metal crossbars—upside down and sideways, didn’t seem to matter to him—and arrived at the closed gate.
Tony picked up the remote control for the cage.
Hesitated.
Once past the gate, Bony was free to roam his bedroom. Anything could happen.
(Let the contest begin.)
The gate levered open and the monkey scrambled under and out.
Tony put the red dot of the laser pointer back on the little refrigerator.
The monkey wedged his finger-toes into the rubberized insulation that held the fridge door shut. He pulled on the handle. Didn’t budge.
He pulled harder.
The door flung open, smacking Bony back onto his diapered behind. The door closed on the rebound.
#$%#!
“Focus,” Tony said.
He knew the monkey didn’t understand him, except for a few commands, but it was fun to pretend.
The monkey put his tiny hands back on the refrigerator handle. He pulled, he wedged, and the door swung open.
Tony put the laser dot on a soda inside. “That one,” he said.
Bony toppled a can out onto the floor.
“No, the lemon lime.”