The helicopter buzzed over the city like a truck-sized mosquito.
“I can see my house!” cried little Jeremy.
“You’ll never see it again if your parents don’t pay up,” grunted one of the masked men.
“You want money?” said Jeremy. He gave them his allowance, and they let him go.
Martha said, “Listen well, Little Tommy. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many years, it’s that you’ve got to have self control.”
Tommy folded his chubby little arms. “You’re not the boss of me!”
“Listen to your grandmother,” said Martha, wagging her seven-year-old finger. “And to me, too.”