The Enemy

went quiet for a minute. He was thinking.
    “How bad was the marriage?” he asked. “Bad enough that we should be looking at the husband for the doer?”
    “The timing doesn’t work,” I said. “He was dead when it happened.”
    “Was there money involved?”
    “Nice house,” I said. “Probably hers.”
    “So what about a paid hit, maybe set up way ahead of time?”
    Now he was really clutching at straws.
    “He’d have arranged it for when he was away in Germany.”
    Clark said nothing to that.
    “Who called you for this progress report?” I asked him.
    “You did,” he said. “An hour ago.”
    “I don’t recall doing that.”
    “Not you personally,” he said. “Your people. It was the little black chick I met at the scene. Your lieutenant. I was too busy to talk. She gave me a number, but I left it somewhere. So I called back on the number you gave me originally. Did I do wrong?”
    “No,” I said. “You did fine. Sorry we can’t help you.”
    We hung up. I sat quiet for a moment and then I buzzed my corporal.
    “Ask Lieutenant Summer to come see me,” I said.

    Summer showed up inside ten minutes. She was in BDUs and between her face and her body language I could see she was feeling a little nervous of me and a little contemptuous of me all at the same time. I let her sit down and then I launched right into it.
    “Detective Clark called back,” I said.
    She said nothing.
    “You disobeyed my direct order,” I said.
    She said nothing.
    “Why?” I asked.
    “Why did you give me the order?”
    “Why do you think?”
    “Because you’re toeing Willard’s line.”
    “He’s the CO,” I said. “It’s a good line to toe.”
    “I don’t agree.”
    “You’re in the army now, Summer. You don’t obey orders just because you agree with them.”
    “We don’t cover things up just because we’re told to either.”
    “We do,” I said. “We do that all the time. We always have.”
    “Well, we shouldn’t.”
    “Who made you Chief of Staff?”
    “It’s unfair to Carbone and Mrs. Kramer,” she said. “They’re innocent victims.”
    I paused. “Why did you start with Mrs. Kramer? You see her as more important than Carbone?”
    Summer shook her head. “I didn’t start with Mrs. Kramer. I got to her second. I had already started on Carbone. I went through the personnel lists and the gate log and marked who was here at the time and who wasn’t.”
    “You gave me that paperwork.”
    “I copied it first.”
    “You’re an idiot,” I said.
    “Why? Because I’m not chicken?”
    “How old are you?”
    “Twenty-five.”
    “OK,” I said. “So next year you’ll be twenty-six. You’ll be a twenty-six-year-old black woman with a dishonorable discharge from the only career you’ve ever had. Meanwhile the civilian job market will be flooded because of force reduction and you’ll be competing with people with chests full of medals and pockets full of testimonials. So what are you going to do? Starve? Go work up at the strip club with Sin?”
    She said nothing.
    “You should have left it to me,” I said.
    “You weren’t doing anything.”
    “I’m glad you thought so,” I said. “That was the plan.”
    “What?”
    “I’m going to take Willard on,” I said. “It’s going to be him or me.”
    She said nothing.
    “I work for the army,” I said. “Not for Willard. I believe in the army. I don’t believe in Willard. I’m not going to let him trash everything.”
    She said nothing.
    “I told him not to make an enemy out of me. But he didn’t listen.”
    “Big step,” she said.
    “One that you already took,” I said.
    “Why did you cut me out?”
    “Because if I blow it I don’t want to take anyone down with me.”
    “You were protecting me.”
    I nodded.
    “Well, don’t,” she said. “I can think for myself.”
    I said nothing.
    “How old are
you
?” she asked.
    “Twenty-nine,” I said.
    “So next year you’ll be thirty. You’ll be a thirty-year-old white man with a dishonorable discharge from the only job you’ve ever had. And whereas I’m young enough to start over, you’re not. You’re institutionalized, you’ve got no social skills, you’ve never been in the civilian world, and you’re good for nothing. So maybe it should be
you
laying in the weeds, not me.”
    I said nothing.
    “You should have talked it over,” she said.
    “It’s a personal choice,” I said.
    “I already made my personal choice,” she said. “Seems like