A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit
“I know what the roster said.” His voice dropped at the end, the way it always did.
“I also know what the board will say on the fourteenth about a shouting match at Gate Six.”
“Nobody shouted, Colonel.”
“Somebody slapped.” He said it easily, the way he’d read off a supply count.
“That’s what goes in the minutes unless we give them a better minute.”
“Whose minute, sir?”
“Mine.” He turned a folder around and pushed it across the desk with two fingers.
“Read it before you answer.”
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