Busted Flush

I’d been at it for a while when my cell started buzzing. I looked at the screen. It was Ink.

“Hey, baby,” I said, answering.

“You made good time,” she said. “You’re not cleaning up the apartment, are you?”

I looked around. The newspapers and magazines were in neat piles and the clothes had been put in the laundry or folded and put away. The bed was made with clean sheets, and I’d put the dishes away.

“No—of course not—I know how you feel about that.”

“Liar. You are such a liar.”

“It’s true. I am a filthy liar,” I replied. “Unlike you, who’s just incredibly messy.”

“I’ve got to work late,” Ink said. “How about you meet me here and we can get some dinner?”

I rolled my eyes. More walking.

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say.”

The SCARE offices reminded me of BICC. Cold, impersonal, and indifferent to human needs.

They held me at the front desk until Ink came down to escort me upstairs. It was annoying. Just because I worked for Jayewardene and the UN and not for the U.S. government, I was being treated like I might be a security threat. Honestly, if I had wanted to I could have blasted the front desk area to smithereens.

The elevator opened and Ink stepped out. It was still a surprise to see her now. The short, spiky hair was gone; in its place was a sleek bob. She didn’t have her tats on all the time, either. And instead of her ubiquitous Converse high-tops, she was wearing pumps. Her business suit was tasteful and modest in a sober gray. It made me want to weep.

We were in the elevator when Ink got up on her tiptoes and kissed me.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“I missed you,” she said. “Good grief, I can’t even kiss you without you thinking something weird is going on. You haven’t been having those nightmares again, have you?”

I didn’t answer.

“You have,” she said. “And you’ve been having those flashbacks, too.”

“John asked me to lead a group to Nigeria,” I said, hoping to change the topic.

“I hope you turned him down. You don’t need any more stress.”

Annoyance ripped through me. My mother had once said that it wasn’t the big stuff that screwed up relationships. It was the little things—the everyday stuff that went on and on, annoying the hell out of you. I hated that Ink’s concern and attention were so grating. And I really hated the fact that she was right. “Yeah, I turned him down, but I told him I was available if he needed me for anything else.”

Luckily, the elevator doors opened and she didn’t have a chance to reply. As we walked through Cubicle City, I noticed that a lot of the employees were giving Ink sympathetic looks. She nodded to a couple of them.

“What’s going on?” I whispered.

“In a minute.”

We stopped in front of a large door. Ink slipped a key on her wrist coil into the lock. When the door opened, we were in a beautiful waiting room. There was a desk at one end next to a second door. Ink went to the desk and sat down behind it. “Grab a chair,” she said.

I got a chair and dragged it next to her desk, then plopped down in it. The phone rang and she answered it.

“Yes, this is the office of the director,” Ink said. “No . . . I’m sorry . . . He’s out for the rest of the day.”

There was a pause.

“Of course, I would be happy to answer any questions.”

She stuck out her arm and I could see words scrolling across it: There’s nothing more I would rather do this afternoon than talk to you. And your inane questions will ensure that I’ll never get this half hour of my life back.

“Yes, the new director is wonderful to work for.”

As long as you don’t mind a self-absorbed, narcissistic jackass with penis-size issues.

“Of course, we’ll all miss Nephi Callendar. As Straight Arrow he was a force for good and as head of SCARE he looked out for the best interests of the American people.”

She put her leg up on the desk so her skirt fell back a little, and I could see in Gothic lettering:

Who was a decent human being, unlike this new guy, who has the IQ of warm milk. Of course, Nephi would have had a conniption fit if he had known that you and I were more than “best” girlfriends.

“But the new director has some exciting plans for the department.”

She lifted her shirt so just her stomach was bared. Written on it was: When he isn’t working out or obsessively cleaning his office every hour. What a freak! And not in a good way.