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He managed the Gem although he could be found most mornings at Kelly’s Diner in Monarch, breakfasting with his cronies, old timers and retirees that gathered there every morning, no matter the weather, to solve the world’s problems.

   The locals called him Papa Smurf. He spent as much time at the diner as he did in the office, leaving most of the business in the hands of the bartenders and barmaids. The younger son, Patrick, I had yet to meet.
   Patrick, known locally as Trick, for his ability to avoid any attachment to the female population. According to the locals he had dated and dumped every female within the town limits between the ages of 20 and 50.
   His dating record reached legendary status among the old timers, who counted him up there with Brad Pitt when it came to the ladies.
   My dealings with men being of the negative variety, I didn’t give a fig if I ever met him.
   One thing did concern me. The family occupied half a dozen units at my facility, using them to store inventory for the other businesses. One was designated for family belongings, such as Christmas decorations, seasonal displays, that type of thing.
   Colleen, the matriarch, had two units for herself to accommodate her personal collection of whatever. She was always on the lookout for an empty unit she could confiscate and use to extend her storage space.
   I was under threat of death from all three male Murphy’s to keep her from adding another unit. It led to a running game of hide the empties. If she found one she promptly moved in, grabbing something, anything from her car or unit and taking possession.