Dreyfuss’
direction and say, “Yeah, we had help,” as sarcastically as I could, but Jacob’s more adult about things like that than I am, and he only nodded. “Let’s get you filled in on what’s going on.” We passed through a waiting room with a private secretary. The interior was stucco and tile, more Spanish style influence, though the furniture looked antiquey, with scrolls and flourishes, and some of the vases and hangings could’ve been Chinese. Not that I’d know a Ming vase from Ming’s Lucky Dish takeout.
The secretary didn’t bother to greet us, since he was currently occupied having a showdown with his phone. It was a multi-line unit, and though it wasn’t ringing, the buttons were all lit up and blinking like Christmas had just come early. Chekotah paused beside his desk.
“Lyle?”
The chubby secretary held up his index finger. “I keep pressing the voicemail activation button and they keep coming through.” No wonder my calls never found their way to Lisa. Chekotah sighed.
“So let them ring. I need three rooms in the instructor wing.”
Lyle rolled his eyes and made a huffy noise. He was way gay—queer enough to telegraph his sexual preference with a flick of his head.
I waited for a snap-and-twist and a singsong what-ev-er, but he restrained himself.
“Actually,” Jacob said, “my partner and I could double up on a room.
You remember I told you about Vic.”
Chekotah cocked his head and regarded me through a haze of fatigue, and suddenly his eyebrows shot up. “The medium.” He then looked between Jacob and me as if he was trying to picture us out of our cop-suits, maybe doing something a bit more blatantly homosexual.
“Sure, sure….” He then squinted at Dreyfuss as if trying to figure out where he fit into our relationship.
“Agent Dreyfuss should have his own room,” Jacob said.
“Agent?” Chekotah repeated with some concern.
Lyle stopped acting snippy and started acting interested, and I noticed a shift in Jacob’s expression, a minuscule tightening of the mouth that told me he was annoyed with himself for letting anything interesting slip. While I was never taught the technique in so many words, I’ve noticed the best way to get people to show their true colors in a police interview is to act as blandly neutral as possible. Pointing out that the Feds were crashing the party was decidedly splashy.
The notion that Jacob really wasn’t “Mr. Perfect” was comforting.
Chekotah wasn’t keen on making any more of a spectacle out of our arrival than he needed to. He hustled us into his office and closed the door firmly behind us.
Chapter 10
Chekotah’s office was a mess. Lots of half-open, half-packed boxes.
It stunk of burnt sage.
“Sorry for the, uh…you can just put that on the floor, there.” Jacob, Dreyfuss and I all stared while Chekotah cleared some chairs.
Nervous, yes. Probably at the thought of having a federal agent eyeballing him.
The boxes made heavy thumps on the floor. Mostly books, though one had some pottery in it—Native American and not Chinese, I knew that much, at least.
“Redecorating?” I suggested, when it seemed obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate on the boxes.
“New office.” He moved a stack of files to a precarious spot atop a pyramid of boxes, then made his way around the desk. “It’s all a little sudden.”
No one filled in the awkward silence for him.
“Director Park resigned yesterday, so….” He fiddled with a polished obsidian paperweight.
“So now you’re in charge?” Jacob ventured. Chekotah nodded. Jacob broke into a broad smile, the type of smile that lights up a room, and extended his hand over the desktop. “Congratulations.” They shook. And just like that, the tension drained away.
Sometimes it’s not about doing things right the first time around. It’s about course-correcting when you screw up.
We sat, Jacob in the middle facing Chekotah, Dreyfuss and me off to either side.
direction and say, “Yeah, we had help,” as sarcastically as I could, but Jacob’s more adult about things like that than I am, and he only nodded. “Let’s get you filled in on what’s going on.” We passed through a waiting room with a private secretary. The interior was stucco and tile, more Spanish style influence, though the furniture looked antiquey, with scrolls and flourishes, and some of the vases and hangings could’ve been Chinese. Not that I’d know a Ming vase from Ming’s Lucky Dish takeout.
The secretary didn’t bother to greet us, since he was currently occupied having a showdown with his phone. It was a multi-line unit, and though it wasn’t ringing, the buttons were all lit up and blinking like Christmas had just come early. Chekotah paused beside his desk.
“Lyle?”
The chubby secretary held up his index finger. “I keep pressing the voicemail activation button and they keep coming through.” No wonder my calls never found their way to Lisa. Chekotah sighed.
“So let them ring. I need three rooms in the instructor wing.”
Lyle rolled his eyes and made a huffy noise. He was way gay—queer enough to telegraph his sexual preference with a flick of his head.
I waited for a snap-and-twist and a singsong what-ev-er, but he restrained himself.
“Actually,” Jacob said, “my partner and I could double up on a room.
You remember I told you about Vic.”
Chekotah cocked his head and regarded me through a haze of fatigue, and suddenly his eyebrows shot up. “The medium.” He then looked between Jacob and me as if he was trying to picture us out of our cop-suits, maybe doing something a bit more blatantly homosexual.
“Sure, sure….” He then squinted at Dreyfuss as if trying to figure out where he fit into our relationship.
“Agent Dreyfuss should have his own room,” Jacob said.
“Agent?” Chekotah repeated with some concern.
Lyle stopped acting snippy and started acting interested, and I noticed a shift in Jacob’s expression, a minuscule tightening of the mouth that told me he was annoyed with himself for letting anything interesting slip. While I was never taught the technique in so many words, I’ve noticed the best way to get people to show their true colors in a police interview is to act as blandly neutral as possible. Pointing out that the Feds were crashing the party was decidedly splashy.
The notion that Jacob really wasn’t “Mr. Perfect” was comforting.
Chekotah wasn’t keen on making any more of a spectacle out of our arrival than he needed to. He hustled us into his office and closed the door firmly behind us.
Chapter 10
Chekotah’s office was a mess. Lots of half-open, half-packed boxes.
It stunk of burnt sage.
“Sorry for the, uh…you can just put that on the floor, there.” Jacob, Dreyfuss and I all stared while Chekotah cleared some chairs.
Nervous, yes. Probably at the thought of having a federal agent eyeballing him.
The boxes made heavy thumps on the floor. Mostly books, though one had some pottery in it—Native American and not Chinese, I knew that much, at least.
“Redecorating?” I suggested, when it seemed obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate on the boxes.
“New office.” He moved a stack of files to a precarious spot atop a pyramid of boxes, then made his way around the desk. “It’s all a little sudden.”
No one filled in the awkward silence for him.
“Director Park resigned yesterday, so….” He fiddled with a polished obsidian paperweight.
“So now you’re in charge?” Jacob ventured. Chekotah nodded. Jacob broke into a broad smile, the type of smile that lights up a room, and extended his hand over the desktop. “Congratulations.” They shook. And just like that, the tension drained away.
Sometimes it’s not about doing things right the first time around. It’s about course-correcting when you screw up.
We sat, Jacob in the middle facing Chekotah, Dreyfuss and me off to either side.
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