Gene was curious.
“Can I use your fax?” he asked. “To send this to our office to get the ball rolling?”
He nodded.
“Sure can. It’s out on Mary’s desk. Just give her the number if she’s there, or you can use it.”
Gene headed out, leaving Ethan with the man. He was still in shock that this was going so well.
It was bizarre.
“So, Ethan, you’re from here, and the family is still here?” he asked.
He nodded.
“Yes, why?”
He shrugged.
“No reason. Just chitchat. I’m just curious. Native, huh? You don’t look it.”
Oh, he was aware. That would be the Caucasian genes more front and center, thanks to his mother.
“I’m half-Native.”
The man grinned.
“I’m half-Polish.”
Oh, goodie.
They had something to bond over, even though he’d absolutely rather not.
At least the guy wasn’t being racist. That was another plus in his column.
“Are you from here?” he asked Jerry, making small talk like it mattered.
Spoiler.
It didn’t.
Jerry nodded.
“Yeah, I grew up here. I went to school here, and then I started protecting and serving here. Boy, was I glad to get off of the street beat and into homicide. Beat cops’ jobs suck.”
He imagined, but he didn’t know.
Being a Fed was like being a detective but skipping the street beat bullshit. You got your ass thrown right to the wolves on day one—especially if there was an agent shortage.
“Do you like your job?” Jerry asked him.
Ethan opened his mouth, about to say yes.
“Well, what’s not to like? I get to see the worst of people, walk through blood, and play in their sick minds. I love it.”
The man stared at him like he was crazy.
Well, that was because he was. Every single agent who did what he and Gene did was batshit insane. You had to have some fractures in your psyche to play these kinds of games.
