Otis Milburn Novels & Stories

I bug my eyes out at him. “Otis is a friend,” he explains. “He owes me a few favors.” “And he just happens to work at the LIL?” “Used to be in the field. He got injured and didn’t want to sit and collect disability checks.” Come to think of it, I noticed Otis walked with a slight limp. “So, he became a janitor?”

Irene had worked efficiently, forcing a bitter tonic between his lips. Now, he looked good as new. It even appeared he was doing better than I was. Otis, Mila, Irene, and I stood there in a quiet semicircle, watching him breathe. The crackling fire filled the silence. I still managed to pick up some firewood on the way home, and it will last us for another few days. “Wow,” Otis murmured at last, folding his arms thoughtfully. “He really is a work of art.” He leaned slightly, trying to frame him in his view. “How can someone be born with that face?”

I sighed. Otis smiled. “I understand. I just realized that a traitor can take the form of a caring and obedient person.” He glanced at Jasper. His subordinate chuckled. “Enough about me. What about you, what do you do?” I asked curiously. “You must be a businessman like Grandpa and Farrell.” Otis chuckled. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you." "Try me." He was stunned for a moment. "If you've ever heard of Precious Fund, I'm the owner," he declared proudly.