"That's quite a shiner you've got. I hope you gave as good as you got."
"Have you ever known me not to?" I raised a finger, putting him on mute for a moment, and grabbed my now empty mug. My body squealed in protest as I pushed myself to my feet, but I ignored it. "I'll be right back. You want some?"
He shook his head. "I've already had enough to throw a lesser man into A-fib."
"No worries. I passed my last CPR course with flying colors…on the third try. I only broke a few ribs on the dummy." After refilling my cup and getting reestablished behind my desk, I took a sip, bracing myself to dive into the day. "Okay, what's got your knickers in a twist this morning?"
"You know how we carefully count and report all the major explosives we have?" He paused.
I guess he expected a response. "Yup."
"And you know how we're supposed to report anything that's missing?" Again a pause.
"Yup."
"Like to the ATF?"
This time I didn't wait for the prompt—I'm a quick study. "Yup. Can we get to the point?"
"Some big stuff has gone missing."
I set my mug down. "What?"
"I need to show you."
***
The sun was just high enough to bathe the rooftop in light, which was a good thing. Normally a minefield of knee-knockers, pipes, and electrical boxes, rooftop navigation was much less perilous in the daylight, especially now with all the mortar racks and wires as we busily prepared for the fireworks display tonight. Each individual tube would launch an aerial shell, some of them almost two feet in diameter, with precisely timed fuses. This year, the whole thing would be choreographed to the current hits by the Thump Dogs—the latest 'new, hot thing' and our entertainment option for the weekend. Xavier's team of experts scurried mounting shells, running wires, testing fuses. Precisely timed, intricately planned, tested, then retested, the show would be controlled from an electrical console that looked like the cockpit of a 747. Loudspeakers mounted on stalks behind the command center would pipe the music in so the operators could check the display timing. As I looked at the whole setup, all I could think of was if God had a sense of humor, all she had to do was get a wild hair and rain on my parade. Precip wasn't in the forecast, but this being July, a rogue monsoonal flow could strike at any time.
Woefully inadequate in the weather-control department, I abdicated responsibility for the weather. Simple mundane human problems were proving to be taxing enough as it was.
On the far side of the roof, an empty electrical shed had been converted into a secure housing for the pyrotechnics. The door hung on one hinge. The latch, with the lock still through it, was bent and mangled.
Bracing my hands on my hips and squinting my eyes against the assault of the summer sun, I surveyed the damage. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"
Xavier stood at my shoulder. "No, just poked my head inside."
"And the police and the ATF? Are they on their way?"
"Not yet."
Closing one eye, I tried to get a bead on him. "Why not?"
"We have a bit of a problem." He shifted from one foot to the other as he avoided my eyes.
"Lay it out. How big?"
"Class A." He ducked through the doorway and motioned me to follow.
I knelt next to him in the far corner. "You guys had Class A explosives up here? What the hell were you thinking?"
"The dynamite wasn't ours. I didn't even know the sticks were there until they were gone."
My voice stepped back from the edge of hysteria. "Dynamite."
"Old stuff, too." Xavier pointed to several dark spots on the concrete floor. "The nitro's leaking out pretty good."
"If you didn't know they were there, how'd you know they were gone?"
"One of my guys told me. And I thought about you being up close and personal with some similar stuff. Too much to be a coincidence." Xavier grabbed my arm and leaned in. "Find Frenchie Nixon. He'll rabbit once the Feds start sniffing around."
"Frenchie Nixon?" My voice rose an octave or two. "You hired
"Have you ever known me not to?" I raised a finger, putting him on mute for a moment, and grabbed my now empty mug. My body squealed in protest as I pushed myself to my feet, but I ignored it. "I'll be right back. You want some?"
He shook his head. "I've already had enough to throw a lesser man into A-fib."
"No worries. I passed my last CPR course with flying colors…on the third try. I only broke a few ribs on the dummy." After refilling my cup and getting reestablished behind my desk, I took a sip, bracing myself to dive into the day. "Okay, what's got your knickers in a twist this morning?"
"You know how we carefully count and report all the major explosives we have?" He paused.
I guess he expected a response. "Yup."
"And you know how we're supposed to report anything that's missing?" Again a pause.
"Yup."
"Like to the ATF?"
This time I didn't wait for the prompt—I'm a quick study. "Yup. Can we get to the point?"
"Some big stuff has gone missing."
I set my mug down. "What?"
"I need to show you."
***
The sun was just high enough to bathe the rooftop in light, which was a good thing. Normally a minefield of knee-knockers, pipes, and electrical boxes, rooftop navigation was much less perilous in the daylight, especially now with all the mortar racks and wires as we busily prepared for the fireworks display tonight. Each individual tube would launch an aerial shell, some of them almost two feet in diameter, with precisely timed fuses. This year, the whole thing would be choreographed to the current hits by the Thump Dogs—the latest 'new, hot thing' and our entertainment option for the weekend. Xavier's team of experts scurried mounting shells, running wires, testing fuses. Precisely timed, intricately planned, tested, then retested, the show would be controlled from an electrical console that looked like the cockpit of a 747. Loudspeakers mounted on stalks behind the command center would pipe the music in so the operators could check the display timing. As I looked at the whole setup, all I could think of was if God had a sense of humor, all she had to do was get a wild hair and rain on my parade. Precip wasn't in the forecast, but this being July, a rogue monsoonal flow could strike at any time.
Woefully inadequate in the weather-control department, I abdicated responsibility for the weather. Simple mundane human problems were proving to be taxing enough as it was.
On the far side of the roof, an empty electrical shed had been converted into a secure housing for the pyrotechnics. The door hung on one hinge. The latch, with the lock still through it, was bent and mangled.
Bracing my hands on my hips and squinting my eyes against the assault of the summer sun, I surveyed the damage. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"
Xavier stood at my shoulder. "No, just poked my head inside."
"And the police and the ATF? Are they on their way?"
"Not yet."
Closing one eye, I tried to get a bead on him. "Why not?"
"We have a bit of a problem." He shifted from one foot to the other as he avoided my eyes.
"Lay it out. How big?"
"Class A." He ducked through the doorway and motioned me to follow.
I knelt next to him in the far corner. "You guys had Class A explosives up here? What the hell were you thinking?"
"The dynamite wasn't ours. I didn't even know the sticks were there until they were gone."
My voice stepped back from the edge of hysteria. "Dynamite."
"Old stuff, too." Xavier pointed to several dark spots on the concrete floor. "The nitro's leaking out pretty good."
"If you didn't know they were there, how'd you know they were gone?"
"One of my guys told me. And I thought about you being up close and personal with some similar stuff. Too much to be a coincidence." Xavier grabbed my arm and leaned in. "Find Frenchie Nixon. He'll rabbit once the Feds start sniffing around."
"Frenchie Nixon?" My voice rose an octave or two. "You hired
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