Tyche
Copyright© 2020 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 39
“We’re here.” I said.
“All the way down?” Said Junior.
“Except takeoff and landings.” I said, “I will admit I didn’t nap.”
The questioning suit looked outraged, “You let a minor pilot?”
“Certainly,” I said. “I’m a minor pilot.”
And Junior stuck two cents in the pot, “And a very good one. I should know. I trained her.”
“And who are you?” Asked the suit.
“Got any money?” Junior said.
“Yes,” He said.
“A fifty?”
“Yes.”
“Look at it,” Junior suggested.
The suit took out his wallet and fumbled through his cash. He pulled out a fifty and looked. Lightbulb moment. “Oh Shit.”
“I was 13 when I posed for the engraver.”
“I issued her a PCC (Princessapality Concealed Carry Handgun Permit) because she’s worth ... what? Tyche? Billions?”
“I ain’t saying, Junior.”
“Along with being the first born third generation Flintkote ... she’s the heir apparent. She might never need the weapon ... better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.”
Alice nodded ... along with every person in the room.
The other suits were the Dean of Women ... a man. And the Dean of The University ... Dean Gregory.
“Ms Flintkote. Welcome to the University of Texas, Austin. You are not what we were expecting ... I mean ... you look like who we were expecting ... we weren’t expecting the package.” He realized what he said and blushed. “I mean ... we were expecting a fifteen year old ... and the way you look is going to cause trouble in a dorm setting ... to say nothing of the voice.”
Remember? ... Lycra bike shorts and top ... and shoes. The lack of anything else was evident.
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