A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit

“Fourteen, eleven, and eight.”

“School here?”

“Up on Custer.”

He nodded slowly, the way a man does when he has found the handle he wanted.

“If you want your kids to stay in base housing through May, you’ll drop this clipboard matter.”

I did not reach for the copies.

I did not put them away either.

“A car came to my gate that wasn’t on the roster, sir.”