”No, you have to subtract x and divide the whole thing by 9. Here like this.” Dave yanked the pencil out of Tyler’s hand and began jotting down figures.
“Oh. That makes way more sense.”
The pop star flashed the old man one of his signature smiles, that make tween girls swoon and housewives flutter. As one would expect, it had no effect whatsoever on the 62-year-old accountant who had so far been having the worse day of his entire life. Dave handed the kid back the pencil and turned back towards the monitor which had turned on the screen saver of frantically colliding bubbles. Hitting the enter key the spreadsheets Dave was working on came back to life. He started typing in more figures.
“Umm, Mr. Rogers?”
Dave’s fingers continued tapping. “My last name is not Rogers it’s Rangers. Please just call me Dave.”
“Right sorry. Um, Dave?”
“Yes Tyler?”
“So, if I have a problem that has three guys playing cards and each doubles the money of the other two how much did each player start with?”
“How much did they end with?”
“It says a euros. Does that mean I’m solving for A and that will be an amount in eouros?”
“Let me see that.”
Dave swiped the book from Tyler’s hand and the bejeweled and glitter encrusted sleeve fell away from the cover. Inconvenient Equations, by Count Helkinslien Nerdowell, PhDE. “Maybe you should just sit in corner and draw for a while.”
“I’m not a five-year-old.”
“Fine then practice voice things.”
Tyler sucked in a huge breath.
“Wait on second thought don’t. I’m starting to get a headache.”
The pop star huffed flipping his floppy hair as he sunk down onto the couch. Dave turned back to his computer. The bubbles were back. One key stroke and he was-
BAM!
The door to the office crashed against the wall. Six men in tight fitting red leotards burst into the room. Each carried a semi-automatic rifle. A few also carried hand guns.
“Tyler Rift you’re coming with us,” the biggest of the blowhards said propping his gun against his shoulder.
“What the-“
BANG!
Dave bit back a curse as he ducked away from the sparking hole in the company laptop.
Tyler’s hands shot up into the air. “Alright, alright, I’ll come with you just don’t kill Mr. Rogers.”
“Mr. Rogers? What are you doing in this neighborhood.” The scrawniest of the thugs interjected. His biceps, that were the size of two small foreign cars, flexed as he hauled Dave to his feet. “Man, you’ve really let yourself go.”
“I’m not Mr. Rogers My name is Dave Rangers.”
“Are you the kid’s dad or something?”
“No. I’m an accountant.”
“Molly’s accountant?”
“Not by choice.”
“What do you think Mel?” Baby boulder biceps looked at their leader.
“If Molly wanted him then Ashley is sure to want him too. He’s coming with us.”
“Wait I’m not going-“ A garish red bag was forced over Dave’s head.
