Broker said.
“Alternative lifestyles. I believe that’s what you call it in Minnesota, ain’t it?”
“Wales?”
“Out here I guess we’re less kindly disposed toward…alternative lifestyles, but naturally we’re working on it,” Wales said.
“What exactly is it you want to tell me?”
“This Jane lady Nina’s traveling with works real hard at looking sexy in a strident way that excludes men. She comes across queer.”
“Ah,” Broker said as a jagged fever spike flared up through the roof of his mouth and jabbed into his brain.
Wales continued his careful scrutiny. “Gotta give them an A for effort. You worked UC, you know how hard it is to put an agent into a small community. I didn’t buy it at first look, but there’s some who did. Like maybe their intended target. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s just bored and this gambit amuses him.”
“You might as well tell me the whole story,” Broker said in his best neutral voice.
“Sure, I can do that. Yesterday around noon this soap opera rolls into town. We get a call, two women having a domestic in the parking lot of a virtually closed local bar. They got a little kid with them. So our deputy goes and cools them out. Various accusations pass back and forth. My cop separates them. Gets them to agree on a plan to diffuse the conflict. The plan is to locate you to come get your kid. Jane gives my guy a contact person to find you. Jane takes your kid and checks into the motel. Then Nina…”
Wales paused, massaged his right wrist where he wore the copper band. “Arthritis. Copper’s s’posed to help. Anyway, when Nina doesn’t show up at the motel, Jane calls my deputy as per the arrangement. He calls the contact person who turns out to be the sheriff in Cook County, Minnesota. Now, we get to wondering—why is a county sheriff involved?
“Then Sheriff Jeffords calls me and asks me, as a favor, to make extra sure nothing happens to your kid on account of you and him are buddies. Meanwhile, your Nina runs off with the bar owner. Seems they saw they had something in common from the git. To wit: a drinking problem.”
“Aw god.” Broker sagged forward, elbow on knee, face in his hand. “Go on,” he said. The fever had now divided into a lot of little spikes that started to seethe behind his eyes like flames, or maybe snakes. He struggled to keep a straight face.
Very casual, very sly, Wales hit Broker with his crack shot. “By theway. Nina and Jane rolled into town in this broken-down Volvo.”
“ Volvo ,” Broker said in a strangled voice.
Wales grinned. “That’s how my guy read it. He said that underneath their bullshit, these two chicks had the look of folks who might arrive by Humvee, or in a Bradley Fighting Vehicle, or by fuckin’ parachute…”
Broker held up his hands. “I give up. You’re right. The people she hangs with would turn Volvos away from her funeral.”
“And those people would be…”
“Nina never brought her work home.” Broker clicked his teeth together. “The fact is, she ain’t brought herself home, either, the last couple years.”
“You ever heard of the Purple Platoon?” Wales asked.
Broker shook his head. “Where’d that come from?”
“Your friend Downs, he’s got a photographic memory, I guess. From an article he read. What about the term D-girls ?”
Broker stared at him. “Got me.”
“C’mon, Broker,” Wales said softly. “Try D for Delta.”
Broker slumped his shoulders. “Wales, man, I don’t know. I just come here to get my kid clear of whatever’s going on.”
Wales leaned across his desk and said, “Maybe.”
They stared at each other.
Slowly, employing a reasonable tone of voice, Wales said, “Look. The guy she took off with is named Ace Shuster. He did a bit for manslaughter ten years ago. Everybody, including me, believes it was self-defense and the jury stuck it to him. A case of personal and local politics. He drinks too much and considers himself a ladies’
“Alternative lifestyles. I believe that’s what you call it in Minnesota, ain’t it?”
“Wales?”
“Out here I guess we’re less kindly disposed toward…alternative lifestyles, but naturally we’re working on it,” Wales said.
“What exactly is it you want to tell me?”
“This Jane lady Nina’s traveling with works real hard at looking sexy in a strident way that excludes men. She comes across queer.”
“Ah,” Broker said as a jagged fever spike flared up through the roof of his mouth and jabbed into his brain.
Wales continued his careful scrutiny. “Gotta give them an A for effort. You worked UC, you know how hard it is to put an agent into a small community. I didn’t buy it at first look, but there’s some who did. Like maybe their intended target. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s just bored and this gambit amuses him.”
“You might as well tell me the whole story,” Broker said in his best neutral voice.
“Sure, I can do that. Yesterday around noon this soap opera rolls into town. We get a call, two women having a domestic in the parking lot of a virtually closed local bar. They got a little kid with them. So our deputy goes and cools them out. Various accusations pass back and forth. My cop separates them. Gets them to agree on a plan to diffuse the conflict. The plan is to locate you to come get your kid. Jane gives my guy a contact person to find you. Jane takes your kid and checks into the motel. Then Nina…”
Wales paused, massaged his right wrist where he wore the copper band. “Arthritis. Copper’s s’posed to help. Anyway, when Nina doesn’t show up at the motel, Jane calls my deputy as per the arrangement. He calls the contact person who turns out to be the sheriff in Cook County, Minnesota. Now, we get to wondering—why is a county sheriff involved?
“Then Sheriff Jeffords calls me and asks me, as a favor, to make extra sure nothing happens to your kid on account of you and him are buddies. Meanwhile, your Nina runs off with the bar owner. Seems they saw they had something in common from the git. To wit: a drinking problem.”
“Aw god.” Broker sagged forward, elbow on knee, face in his hand. “Go on,” he said. The fever had now divided into a lot of little spikes that started to seethe behind his eyes like flames, or maybe snakes. He struggled to keep a straight face.
Very casual, very sly, Wales hit Broker with his crack shot. “By theway. Nina and Jane rolled into town in this broken-down Volvo.”
“ Volvo ,” Broker said in a strangled voice.
Wales grinned. “That’s how my guy read it. He said that underneath their bullshit, these two chicks had the look of folks who might arrive by Humvee, or in a Bradley Fighting Vehicle, or by fuckin’ parachute…”
Broker held up his hands. “I give up. You’re right. The people she hangs with would turn Volvos away from her funeral.”
“And those people would be…”
“Nina never brought her work home.” Broker clicked his teeth together. “The fact is, she ain’t brought herself home, either, the last couple years.”
“You ever heard of the Purple Platoon?” Wales asked.
Broker shook his head. “Where’d that come from?”
“Your friend Downs, he’s got a photographic memory, I guess. From an article he read. What about the term D-girls ?”
Broker stared at him. “Got me.”
“C’mon, Broker,” Wales said softly. “Try D for Delta.”
Broker slumped his shoulders. “Wales, man, I don’t know. I just come here to get my kid clear of whatever’s going on.”
Wales leaned across his desk and said, “Maybe.”
They stared at each other.
Slowly, employing a reasonable tone of voice, Wales said, “Look. The guy she took off with is named Ace Shuster. He did a bit for manslaughter ten years ago. Everybody, including me, believes it was self-defense and the jury stuck it to him. A case of personal and local politics. He drinks too much and considers himself a ladies’
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