“General.”
Whitaker looked toward him.
“I have an appointment.”
The general’s expression softened.
“Still?”
“Medical paperwork doesn’t care about drama.”
A few people laughed.
Even Ruiz smiled.
Whitaker nodded.
Then turned toward the command sergeant major.
“Sergeant Major Bryant.”
“Sir.”
“Get Sergeant Major Hayes upstairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
David picked up his folder.
One page remained beneath the security desk.
Ruiz rushed around.
“I’ve got it.”
She retrieved it and handed it to David.
“Sergeant Major.”
“Thank you.”
Her cheeks were red.
David took the paper.
Then looked at her.
“You tried to verify.”
Ruiz looked uncomfortable.
“Not enough.”
David paused.
Good answer.
He nodded.
“Remember that feeling.”
She met his eyes.
“Yes, Sergeant Major.”
He started to leave.
Jenkins spoke behind him.
“Sergeant Major.”
David stopped.
Turned.
Jenkins looked toward the torn credential.
“I apologize.”
The lobby became quiet again.
David studied him.
“Why?”
Jenkins frowned.
“For the mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“The identification.”
“No.”
David’s voice remained calm.
“The card was genuine.”
“That isn’t the mistake.”
Jenkins looked confused.
David continued:
“You decided the answer before you checked the question.”
“That was the mistake.”
Then David walked away.
General Whitaker remained.
And Jenkins discovered very quickly that the general had not stayed behind to discuss the ceremony.
The elevator doors closed.
David stood beside Sergeant Major Renee Bryant.
She was fifty-one, Black, five foot eight, and possessed the particular silence of a senior noncommissioned officer who could make a young captain confess to crimes he had not yet committed.
For several floors she said nothing.
David watched the numbers climb.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Finally Bryant said:
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Lie.”
David looked toward her.
She did not.
He smiled slightly.
“Arm’s fine.”
“I didn’t ask about your arm.”
The doors opened.
David exhaled.
“I’m angry.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want to be.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s retirement day.”
Bryant stepped into the hallway.
“Retirement doesn’t make you holy.”
David followed.
“It should make me tired.”
“You’ve been tired since 2009.”
“True.”
They walked toward the VA liaison office.
Bryant said:
“You know Whitaker is about to remove that man’s soul through administrative procedure.”
David almost laughed.
“General doesn’t have authority over civilian police discipline.”
“He has telephones.”
“Dangerous.”
“Very.”
They reached the office.
Bryant stopped.
Then her voice softened.
“What bothered you most?”
David knew immediately.
He wished he did not.
“That he tore it.”
“The card?”
“Yes.”