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“Been there, done that,” Chase sighed, picking it up.
Forty-One
MADISON
“This is utter and complete bullshit,” snarled Noah, getting even louder now. “And you all know it!”
The Midlothian county clerk glanced back at him with the same impassivity as she had with every other customer in line. You’d think she’d be angry, or at the very least, offended. That she’d frown back at my lover with a look of disdain.
But no, she was a professional. She was a seasoned veteran of this type of encounter, and probably several times a day.
“I’m sorry sir, but that’s your checklist,” she said. She pointed without looking at the top left corner of it. “And this is your deadline.”
Noah growled, and I squeezed his hand. We’d been at this forty-five minutes already, with two different clerks. And that’s not including the nearly two hours we’d already spent in line.
“I’m telling you, half this stuff was added well after her application was filed,” said Noah. “There’s no way—”
“Any additional work outside the scope of your original permit requires a variance,” the woman said mechanically. She was short, squat and well past middle-age, with wild, bluish hair. Thick-rimmed glasses rounded out her look, along with far too much lipstick and eyeshadow.
“We don’t want a variance!” Noah practically shouted. “We’re trying to do less work, not more work, you thick-headed dip—”
“What my boyfriend means is,” I cut in, “that additional work is being added to our job by the inspector himself.”
“You’ll still need to apply for a variance,” the woman said, shaking her head.
“Where is our inspector?” Noah demanded. “Can we see him?”
The woman heaved a monumental sigh, her shoulders dropping like we just asked for something totally ridiculous and unreasonable. I wondered if these types of people were grown from pods, and then implanted once fully-developed into government offices and DMV’s around the world.
“What’s your inspector’s name?”
“Sinclair,” I answered numbly. “No, wait… I mean, Burrell. Thomas Burrell.”
“Inspector Burrell’s not here,” she said immediately.
“Could you actually check?” Noah seethed, his thick New York accent dripping with sarcasm.
“I don’t have to check,” the woman said coolly. “Inspector Burrell is on holiday.”
“For how long?”
Now it was the woman’s turn to scowl. I could tell right away she wouldn’t answer the question.
“Is there anyone else you’d like to speak to?” she asked coldly.
“Yes,” said Noah. “Your boss.”
“My… boss?
“Whoever’s above you,” he snapped. “Manager. Supervisor. Chain of command. Anyone with a pulse who signs your paych—”
“Perhaps I could be of some help to you?”
A man stepped in all prim and proper, looking slim and clean and well-kept. As he took the place of the woman, his entire demeanor was as smooth as his velvety voice.
“We need to know why all this stuff was added to our task list,” I said, pointing downward. “It’s new stuff. Last minute stuff.”
On the other side of the counter, the man looked down at his own file. The folder was thick, filled with papers of varying colors and sizes.
