Beau—”
“Gerry!” Jenny
A small square of parquet inside the front door gave way to a marginally larger rectangle of carpet whose color was indiscernible beneath a layer of children’s toys. A boy and a second child of indeterminate gender, both around three years old, were playing a private version of Monopoly that involved acting out the characteristics of their various pieces.
“No, horse jumps over hat, you moron!” the one who was definitely a boy screamed.
There was a heavy footstep on the stairs. BC knew little of Gerry Burton save that he was a big man and, apparently, virile. In addition to the three children present, BC was aware of at least two more.
“Mom! Jack called me a moron!”
Burton’s progress down the stairs was a series of groans, creaks, whines, and wheezes, though it was impossible to tell which came from him, which from the complaining treads. He appeared in the doorway, a dark robe pulled over his white T-shirt, and stepped with exaggerated care around the toys scattered on the floor.
“Evening, Mr. Query.” Burton had a cautious, curious look on his face. Everyone in the neighborhood knew BC worked for the FBI. “Pardon the mess. Five kids, you know. Tiny house. Jenny does the best she can.”
“Dad! Jack called me a moron!”
“Hush up, Lane. Can’t you see we got company?”
BC steeled himself.
“I’m sorry to have to come to you in your home, Mr. Burton.”
Burton squinted, his small eyes disappearing into his plump cheeks, as though he were reading BC’s words rather than listening to him speak. After a moment he nodded, as if he’d reached the end of the sentence. “What can I do for you?”
BC took a deep breath. “As you know, an enormous amount of sensitive material passes through the Department of Justice Building, and it’s vital that none of it be seen by the wrong eyes. I’m sorry to say that it’s come to our attention that there have been several breaches in areas where you have been assigned.”
In the silence after BC finished, one of the children screamed, “Car parks inside hat!
Apparently Jack knew this voice. He grabbed Lane and hightailed it into the kitchen.
“Agent Query?” Burton said when his kids were gone. “No one called me. This the first I heard about it.”
BC smiled and nodded. “In light of your excellent record, the director felt you deserved the courtesy of a personal visit.” As soon as he spoke, BC almost kicked himself. What was he doing, mentioning the director? As if J. Edgar Hoover would take notice of something this trivial.
“But I got Level 3 clearance, Agent Query. It was renewed less’n six months ago.”
“My mother spoke very highly of you,” BC said, though he had no idea why he was mentioning her either. “I’m sure you’ve done nothing wrong. Nevertheless, there have been breaches—minor breaches, but breaches nevertheless—” He broke off, tripping over the fact that he’d used the word “nevertheless” twice in one sentence.
“Is this about that thing with Ashley? Because, you know, me and the wife’ve already—”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Look, Mr. Burton, I’m sure you’ve done nothing wrong, but until we can find out exactly what happened, I’m afraid I’ll need to collect your ID badge.”
“I’ll call the office,” Burton said, stepping toward the phone. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Ashley and me was just—”
“Mr. Burton!” BC tried to make his voice forceful, but it just sounded desperate in his ears. “There’s no one to call. I’m in charge of the matter.” He held out his hand and prayed it wouldn’t shake. “Your ID badge, please.”
Burton’s feet shuffled back and forth until something squeaked beneath them and he started. He walked dazedly to a side table and retreived his badge, then gave it to BC with a fatalistic air, as if he’d always known his time would come. BC couldn’t help but think of the conductor on the train to New York. Mr. Handy. Did every black man in America feel this way? As though his existence continued on sufferance only? But that in turn made him think of Melchior. No, he thought, at least one black man in America was unwilling to live on handouts anymore. Two, if you counted Dr. King. Oh, and Malcolm—
“Do you want to search the house or something?” Burton’s somber voice broke into BC’s reverie. “Cuz you’ll see, we ain’t got nothing to hide. We’re honest people, Agent Query. We love this country. We wouldn’t never breach security.”
BC stuffed the badge in his pocket. “As I said, it’s just an investigation, and, because of your close relationship to my mother, I’m going to handle it personally. In fact, I plan on returning to the office and clearing it up tonight. And I’ve made sure you’ll be paid for the day. Think of it as a little vacation.”
Burton sighed heavily and handed over the badge.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind that. Be nice to sleep when it’s dark out for a change.” He stepped backward, and whatever had squeaked beneath him squeaked again. “God damn—I mean, gosh. Gosh darn. We’re crammed in this place like the old woman in the shoe.”
“Indeed,” BC said. He lingered on the parquet.
“Is there something else, Agent Query?”
“It’s pronounced
