The well groomed man with brown hair pressed his back hard into the back of their leather sofa and playfully pulled the remote control out of his son's grasp.
"Dad! Why'd you change the channel?", uttered the blonde boy. He had skin so white it'd make an Aryan tremble.
"Grrrrrr.",John Maguire, father and top of his police academy class, uttered with a playfully mean look on his face. He was cleancut, consistently well shaven and his hair was never tousled. Their house seemed impossibly clean, well kept and professionaly designed to have been purchased and maintained on the wages John Maguire made as a a single,Irish rookie cop.
His son who looked to be nine years old, was actually sixteen, but few people guessed that. He had round eyeglasses too big for his face but that did nothing to overshadow his commercially viable cuteness. When he smiled, the whole world smiled with him and said "Awwwww."
"You've already seen this!", uttered John Maguire playfully, as usual. John Maguire, no matter how much scotch he drank back, even after another long day on the beat, ever became sour with his boy.
John Maguire looked at his young son's big eyes through his son's big glasses and just couldn't help but smile.
"You're just joshin' me!" giggled young Lucas, which his mother and father sounded like a great white sound naming name.
That was before she was shot down in the parking lot by the Columbians! (who had sought vengeance on him for ousting their leader the first time). This was, after all a sequel.
John Maguire took another long, long swig from his consistently half full glass and without slurring a word looked lovingly at his son and said, "OK, you got me!" and then they became tickling each other such that any unhappily married woman watching them would swoon in delight and call their friend and say, "Oh, I saw him on Oprah. He's a great Dad in real life."
"Dad", said Lucas with a cute face so suddenly wistful, that any woman worth her weight in salt ,would choose him over a shitzu is they were both caged at the Animal Shelter.
"Son, what's the matter?", asked John, his voice so full of utmost concern for his son's feelings that even the hardest of whores would drop her meth habit just to marry him.
"Dad, are you going to marry Miss Adelaide, my grade four teacher?"
"Naaaaaaah", said John Maguire, turning his head to sneak back a quick shot of scotch so quick it'd make even the most hardenned alcoholic go back three steps.
"Why not?", asked Lucas, his voice so damned trembly cute and innocent and naive and just wanting his Dad not to be lonely and his nose so full of cry snot that even the most chaste of priests would want him as an altar boy. (Sorry!)
"Because, we've been through this before, son. I'm sorry, but if Jorge Dominguez were to find out, we'd all be in danger.", said John Maguire in a tone so grim. So, so grim.
The boy looked up at his father and time stood still and any audience worth their weight in formula would want that b*****rd Dominiguez dead just so this boy, this poor little boy who has already lost so much could at least have a chance at a mother and a happy home.have his father happy. The boy was polite and obviously well raised and that counted for a few things. And sometimes, he'd make the funniest astute comments.
"Donb't worry about that, son! Let's see what's happenning with Stryker!"
"Stalker!",, giggled Lucas before he started tickling John Maguire again, causing ovaries to flare from any woman who would see this touching affair.
"Stalker!", growled John Maguire, pretending he had made the mistake on purpose and wasn't actually mad from the sauce.
And then he turned the channel.