Molo held the necklace in his hand to marvel at its loveliness​. His girl friend was the one who'd get this so very beautiful piece of jewelry. 

​     Gramps started forward a second time. 

     "Daddy, please, don't," Abby said. 

​     "But it was your mother's." 

     "This isn't the time to reveal..."

     The whole scene amused Molo. Really, the old guy had to be eighty years old.

Okay, a very well preserved eighty year old. He stood on two muscular legs, and his arms looked full and thick beneath his winter coat, but he had wrinkles all over his body, and his hair was white, and, you know, he was just old. He was an old man. And here the daughter fought to hold the old geezer back from...from what? From doing what? From attacking Molo and his friends with his cane? (Not that he had a cane.) The whole notion made Molo almost laugh out loud. 

​     And there was something else about this guy, too, something very weird. As Molo got a look at him, he kept hearing something, like the guy had a radio on him that he listened to constantly. Molo heard this voice, so softly, an entertainer's voice, a comedian's voice. Laughter he also heard, like a crowd of people laughing. And applause.

     Molo saw it then. Oh yes, there it was, an earplug. The man was listening to an Ipod or something. He was listening to someone, some comedian, tell jokes to an appreciative audience, that's what he was doing.  

     The old man stood there and, whatever else he did, he listened to that comedian tell jokes. And the old man chuckled along. Heh-heh. Heh-heh.

     Which totally confused Molo. What was this old man even about?

     On the other hand, whatever.

     Molo turned. He had all the money from the wallets and purses along with Abby's necklace. That's all he needed.

     "Let's get out of here," he said.  

CONTINUE