Jim walked toward the shelf, keeping one eye on the spot where he had last noticed the insect.
As he drew closer, his eyes fastened on the fly, which remained motionless.
At least, Brad fought to remain motionless. Panic wasn’t going to help, but even half-paralyzed with fear, his antennae twitched and his wings thrummed, making that noise sure to goad his father’s bug antipathy to higher levels.
Sure enough, just hearing the vexing buzz prompted Jim to raised his arm, slowly, trying not to frighten the bug into premature flight. He held the rolled magazine aloft, ready to crash it onto the puny insect's form.
The fly, in turn, watched the gigantic man's slow, steady advance. Faceted compound eyes joined in mutual focus as the giant figure moved in slow motion. Even the lifting of the deadly magazine proceeded at a glacial pace.
“Papi!” Brad wanted to scream. “It's me! Don't do this!”
As the desire to scream accomplished nothing, the insect finally reacted to the menacing behemoth. At the last possible second, realizing the futility of his deluded attempts to communicate, Brad flew, hoping to evade the swipe as his father's enormous arm descended, aiming right at him.
Jim Rivera frowned, irritated beyond endurance by the bug's buzz. The magazine slapped the shelf, an instant after the insect had flown.
Brad heard a forceful curse escape his father's lips. The puny insect tried to fly faster. His highly attuned senses had felt the surge of displaced air as the magazine slammed into the shelf. If he had stayed put, he would have been smeared all over the shelf.
Had he been lucky? Or was his papi just too slow?
"Guess you got it, eh, papi?"
"Eres un sabelotodo," Jim grumbled.
Sal chuckled, but Jim tracked the bug, hearing the buzz growing fainter. He saw a tiny black form zip toward the kitchen.
The fly panicked when the giant tracked it into the kitchen. Jim swung wildly, missing by wider margins, as the insect dodged each blow.
On the third attempt, Jim changed tactics and tried to predict the fly's path.
Brad thought he had evaded filicide, but the enormous tube suddenly appeared in front of him and swung toward him. He attempted to veer away, but his momentum carried him closer.
Jim whooped loudly when the cylinder of glossy newsprint walloped the fly right out of the air.
Shocked, and rendered momentarily stunned, Brad tumbled out of the air and onto his own kitchen table.
Fortunately, his father hadn't been able to pinpoint his landing and was scanning the floor, ready to lift a foot and bring the aggravating scene to a close.
He couldn't fly, but he still had six legs, albeit a bit wobbly from the terrible strike with the magazine. He crawled over the tabletop toward a fold in a cloth napkin, quickly hiding himself in the fabric tunnel. Rotating his tiny body, he managed a partial view of his father's huge form as Jim hunched lower, looking to see if he couldn't bring some closure to the episode.
Brad struggled to prevent his wings from moving and generating a tell-tale buzz. He needed to stay quiet and hidden until Mark got home. What the hell was keeping him?