Resolve by J.J. Hensley

excuse me, I have another meeting to attend to— Cyprus.” He pronounced my first name like it was an infection.
    I slowly rose to leave.
    “It’s Dr. Keller. And fuck you.”
    Walking toward my office, I weighed my options. I could resign and try to cut my losses, but there were too many questions left unanswered. Had Steven heard about what I had done? Was he the vindictive type? I mean, I didn’t think he was ever going to want to be my best friend or anything, but I never felt as if he particularly disliked me. Would Steven let himself be manipulated by the dean? I could easily see Steven telling Silo to go stick it once he realized he was being used as a pawn.
    No. I couldn’t quit. Not with this many uncertainties. The prospect of not having a paycheck was daunting as well. Kaitlyn and I do pretty well, but not that well. And sitting around and waiting was never my thing. A preemptive strike was in order, so I picked up my pace and made a beeline for my office door. As soon as I made it to my desk, I reached for my Blackberry. By my Blackberry I mean my desk drawer full of scraps of paper. Due to my exceptionally well-designed organizational system, in a matter of minutes I was able to find a handwritten note that had Steven’s name and phone number on it. As I stabbed the numbers on the phone’s keypad, I read the rest of what was on the piece of paper, and allowed myself an inner cheer for still having a valid coupon for the oil change and transmission place in the North Hills area.
    If I could catch Steven before his meeting with Silo, then at least I could explain the situation. The Criminology faculty members didn’t exactly love Silo, so if he wanted to get me fired for disobeying his orders and contacting Steven, then he would have a tough climb.
    The phone rang several times until a machine picked up. Steven’s voice told me to leave a message and he would call me back. I pressed down on the protruding square where the handset had been sitting and dialed the number again. Same number of rings, same result. Hanging up the phone, I sat atop my desk pondering my next move. Remembering that I had scheduled office hours starting in a few minutes, I jumped up, grabbed a blank sheet of paper from my printer tray and used a black marker to write a message announcing my office hours had been canceled. I snatched a roll of tape from the top of a cabinet, hung the sign up on the hallway side, then closed and locked my door.
    The next ten minutes in my office were about as productive as my first five. I sat at my computer and searched the university’s phone directory hoping to find a cell phone number for Steven. No luck there. Eventually, I scrolled down the page and found that he had an apartment listed in the Mt. Washington neighborhood that overlooked the city. I jotted down the address on the same coupon with his phone number and stuffed it in my pocket. Determined not to stand around idly and watch my career become road kill, I propelled myself out of the office.
    By the time I had walked to my car in the campus parking garage, beads of sweat had formed on my forehead. I stripped off my sport coat, threw it over the backseat of the dark green Jeep, and within seconds was winding my way down Ohio River Boulevard and eyeing the climb onto Mt. Washington. The Wrangler groaned as it pushed its way up onto the platform that presented an incredible panoramic view of most of the city. I cracked a window to let the early spring air dry my face, and thought about how I would explain things to Steven.
    The apartment was set back from the edge of the ascent, and was concealed by a series of overrated and expensive restaurants that capitalized on the view. Steven’s building was a faded light blue, four-story structure that looked like a haven for wannabe artists and musicians. It was easy to see why a graduate student would choose to live here. Steven was listed as the occupant of apartment 2G, so I passed by, trying