Finn Finnegan

Finn Finnegan — page 1 — One Son of a goat The boy swore and jumped back A second squirt of bird poop landed with a plop this time on the toe of his shoe Oh real funny he said with a grimace He glared up at the crow swinging back and forth on the power line overhead sooty wings spread wide for balance The bird cocked its head and stared back its eye a red-rimmed marble Are you trying to warn me The boy dragged the tip of his sneaker through the lawn

Finn Finnegan — page 2 — bordering the sidewalk He wrinkled his nose at the stink of wet bird droppings mingled with the aroma of freshly mowed grass Not a good combination Or are you just yanking me around He watched as the crow crouched for a moment as if deciding then hoisted itself into the air and flew off The boy snorted Yup just what I thought yanking Slipping his arms free from the straps of a half-full backpack he dropped it to the ground as he fanned his worn tee shirt trying to dry the patch of sweat between his shoulder blades Pushing a mop of auburn hair out of his eyes peaceful he neighborhood Aw this is crazy he thought I’m never going to find him And even if I do what if he says no Then what I can’t go back home Not now frowned scanning the Picking up his pack he slung it over one shoulder and continued down the street He studied every house each one exhibiting pride of ownership with a well-tended yard Somehow I can’t imagine him living in one of

Finn Finnegan — page 3 — those He slowed then stopped when he reached the end of the cul-de-sac A small house sat by itself next to an empty lot Old-fashioned in a cottage-y way it was painted the same shade of rusty green as the pine trees flanking either end of its broad porch Wooded foothills rose behind it while proud mountains strutted away further west A massive stone wall as high as his chin bordered the yard Shifting from foot to foot he peered at the wrought-iron gate bisecting the wall His heart sped up when he noticed a Celtic knot gracing the center of the gate Beyond a flagstone walkway snaked through the shaggy lawn Stretching the length of the northern wall a thick hedge bristled with broad saw-toothed leaves and spiny stalks A few spots along the hedge were plucked bald On the other side of the hedged wall a battered pickup truck gray with age rested in the graveled driveway Relief flooded the boy at the sight of the deadnettle hedge This has gotta be the right

Finn Finnegan — page 4 — house He was reaching for the latch when the screen door creaked opened He froze Now just where would ye be going asked a deep voice A man stepped out and sauntered to the edge of the porch A head above average height with a whipcord build he wore a faded denim shirt open over a white tee shirt Hooking his thumbs into his jeans pockets he rested a shoulder against one of the wooden columns curiosity on his lean face I’m-I’m looking for someone I know he lives on this street but I can’t remember his address Before he could say more a shadow ghosted across the yard Man and boy stiffened and looked up A crow soared overhead a black X wheeling in a tight circle against the sun It cawed sharply just once and glided away The boy whirled to face the street his heart slamming against his ribs and the pack slipping from his shoulder His eyes darted from shadow to shadow looking for any sign of

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