“How about salami and eggs?” Rina proposed. “Easy to make and guaranteed to drive your cholesterol off the scale.”

Decker pushed the dish away. “Actually, that sounds great. How’s my baby daughter? Does she still remember me?”

“With much fondness. You look very tired, Peter.”

“As always.”

Rina began to rub his neck. “You’re very tense, Atlas. Why don’t you pass the world onto someone else’s shoulders?”

“I tried. No one would take it.”

Rina said nothing, continued the massage.

“Feels good,” Decker said.

“Maybe you can juggle some paperwork, put me on the department payroll as your masseuse. Isn’t that how the politicians work it?”

“Too bad I’m not a good politician.” Decker blew out air. “I’m not a good bureaucrat, either. I’m also lousy at delegating tasks. As a result, I’m swamped with paperwork. My own doing, of course.”

“Would you like a rope for self-flagellation, or perhaps a cat-o’-nine-tails?”

Decker smiled. “Where do you know from a cat-o’-nine-tails?”

Rina hit his shoulder, went over to the refrigerator and took out eggs and a roll of salami. Decker looked at his wife as she sliced and diced. As tired as he was, damn, if she didn’t look good enough to devour. He still marveled at how the gods had smiled on him. Seven years ago since they had met…

“It’s not that I don’t have my virtues,” Decker said. “In fact, I have many.”

Rina pushed sizzling salami around the pan. “That’s the spirit.”

“I sometimes miss working in the field, that’s all. I miss working with Marge as a partner. I’ve teamed her with Oliver. They work well together. But I think there’s friction.”

“Big surprise. Marge is a straight shooter, Scott’s a slick old goat.”

“He’s in his forties. That’s not old.”

“But he is slick and he is a goat.”

“True.”

“Is Marge complaining?”

“No, she’s too much the professional to do that. I should talk to her, find out if she’s happy. Tell the truth, I don’t want to open up a can of worms. I figure if there are real problems, I’ll learn about them sooner or later.”

“In other words, you’re playing ostrich, burying your head in the sand.”

“More like…selective ostrich.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Sometimes, I have to look the other way. Otherwise, you spread yourself too thin.”

The phone rang.

Both of them looked at the wall, at the malevolent blinking business line. Rina poured the eggs into the pan and scrambled fiercely. “How about doing some fancy head-interring right now, Mr. Cassowary?”

“Lieutenant Cassowary.”

Wordlessly, Rina picked up the receiver, handed it to her husband. He took it, shrugged helplessly.

“Decker.”

“It’s Marge. We need you.”

“Can I finish my dinner?”