70 Times 7
IF THAT little runt doesn’t stay out of my stuff I’m going to ––” Mark stopped short, not exactly sure what he would do but still mad enough to do it. “Joey!” he yelled. “Joey, get in here!”
Within seconds an eight-year-old with a shock of tousled brown hair and grass-stained jeans appeared ruefully in the doorway. Mark turned on him with a vengeance.
“Have you been listening to my tapes?” he yelled, holding out one of the empty cases.
Joey swallowed hard and his eyes widened. Finally he managed a weak nod, his eyes never leaving Mark’s face.
“Well, where is it?” It’s not in the case.”
Joey seemed to turn gray. Desperately he searched Mark’s room for the tape, finally finding it lodged between the speaker and the bed. He handed it back to Mark.
“I’m sorry, Mark,” he said. “I won’t use it again.”
“You bet you won’t,” Mark agreed. “Now go on.”