"Afternoon, sir... no, I suppose not, sir... in all fairness, sir, it wasn't a deliberate provoca... yes, sir. But still... yes, sir. I just felt... Stan Creighton came on a bit heavy... yes, sir... can I say one thing? Strictly speaking, if I'm off the job, I'm not actually obligated to... yes, sir... yes, sir... yes, sir, right now, sir."

Snapping the phone shut, he rubbed his face.

I said, "Out of retirement?"

"Apparently I never was in retirement. Apparently decisions about my career aren't mine to make. Apparently doing the job properly 'has nothing to do with your fucking ego or your histrionic, grandstanding bullshit, Sturgis.' I'm due at his office, A-sap. This time, you're explicitly disinvited."

"Aw shucks."

"His exact wording was 'Don't even think about shlepping along your Ph.D. nursemaid. This shit you wipe on your own. And be thankful your fucking badge doesn't end up in a bodily orifice.'"

"Maybe you can bring a peace offering," I said.

"Like?"

"Special-order a double-sized burrito. Tell him it's the Chief."

"Oh, man," he said. "There'll be enough gas without that."

I next heard from him at eight p.m.

Standing at my door holding a bouquet of flowers.

"For Robin," he said. "Because I'm invading her privacy."

He walked past me, stopped to pet Blanche, griping, as always, about a taller dog not killing his back. Blanche licked his hand and pressed her head against his shin. He muttered, "Yeah, you're cute... where's Robin?"

"Out for dinner with an old friend from San Luis."

He handed me the flowers. "Put 'em in water, they'll keep."

"How'd it go downtown?"

He strode to the kitchen, searched the fridge, pulled nothing out.

"I arrive expecting to be disemboweled with garden shears, he's all mellow, smoking a cigar, tie loosened, 'Come right in, Sturgis.' It's like nothing ever happened, he just wants a progress report. It was only after I finished that he reverted to type. 'I said progress, Sturgis, not a fucking exposition of the obvious. Why the hell haven't you followed up on the Italian boyfriend, seeing as he's a con and a loser? Work this one logically.' Which translates to forget about the school."

"He'd rather have you on supervised duty than freelancing. What does he think about Martin Mendoza?"

"Not impressed. Same for Trey Franck. 'It's always loved ones and lowlifes, Sturgis. The Italian guy is both.'"

He opened the fridge again, retrieved a loaf of bread, and snarfed a slice dry. Blanche looked up with customary fascination.

"So guess where I'm headed now? Reason I stopped here, first, is I'm not sure how to approach Fidella. He's cooperated so far, what's my reason for recontacting him without getting him antsy and pulling back into his shell?"