A Study in Scarlet
He raised his eyebrows at me across the room. “What’s with that tone, son? Afraid I can’t take it?” He smirked, and traced his finger about the rim of the empty glass, the ring both a request and a reminder.
“Of course not. Right away.” Waving to Sybil, I bade her to collect one of our best bottles. After all, the fact that Dad would even deign to make the effort to visit me down at my place was a rare occasion in itself, and I hardly wanted to fall out again over a small issue such as drinks over dinner.
“You’ve acquired…quite a few more wrinkles since the last time we met, if you do pardon me saying so. Busy times at work?”
He raised a hand to his face with just a hint of self-consciousness. “Really?” I felt rather than heard my father’s sigh. “Oh well. Old age does that, I guess. I mean, what with global warming, crashing economies, and the crazy things world leaders get up to these days.” He glared over the glass at me. “No thanks to you, of course.”
I smirked, opening a window to look at the live feed from Libya, seeing the flashes of falling bombs, rifle reports, hearing the screams of the innocent. Placed my hand against the glass, a black patch against the crimson skies.
“I thought you loved them.” I whispered.
“Not enough to interfere.”
“Come on. I’m not that old yet.”