Brute that knows no Love

Gon Brute stood up and leaned over the partition separating his workspace from Shion’s and gave her a sympathetic look. That was his honest-to-goodness, real name, but Gon thought it was holding him back because no one in the law enforcement agency would ever take him seriously. Yet, he refused to have it legally changed to “Diablo Pitt,” as his supportive coworkers had suggested. “Hi, Diablo,” Shion said. She and the others were still trying out the new name to see if it fit. Last week it was “Clud Clooney,” and that name got about the same reaction “Diablo” was getting now, a glare and a reminder that his name wasn’t “Clud,” it wasn’t “Diablo,” and it wasn’t “Gon.” It was “Gonvin.” “You probably should have heard by now,” he said. She refused to let him rile her. Tall, geeky-looking, with an extremely prominent Adam’s apple, Gon had the annoying habit of using his third finger to push his thick wire-rimmed glasses back up on his ski nose. Jenny, another coworker, told Shion that Gon did it on purpose. It was his way of letting the other three know how superior he felt he was. Shion disagreed. Gon wouldn’t do anything improper. He lived by a code of ethics he believed personified the CIA. He was dedicated, responsible, hardworking, ambitious, and he dressed for the job he wanted . . . with one little glitch. Although he was only twenty-seven years old, his clothing resembled the attire agents wore back in the fifties. Black suits, white long-sleeved shirts with button-down collars, skinny black ties, black wingtip shoes with a perfect shine, and a crew cut she knew he got trimmed once every two weeks. For all of his strange habits—he could quote any line from The CIA Story, starring Jimmy Stewart—he had an incredibly sharp mind and was the ultimate team player. He just needed to lighten up a bit. That was all. “I mean, don’t you think you should have heard by now?” He sounded as worried as she felt. “It’s still early.” Then, less than five seconds later, she said, “You’re right. We should have heard by now.” “No,” he corrected. “I said that you should have heard. Kelly and Jenny and I didn’t have anything to do with your decision to call in the SWAT team.” Oh, God, what had she been thinking? “In other words, you don’t want to take the flak if I’m wrong?” “Not flak,” he said. “The fall. I need this job. It’s the closest I’m going to get to being an agent. With my eyesight . . .” “I know, Gon.” “Gonvin,” he automatically corrected. “And the benefits are great.” Jenny stood so she could join the conversation. “The pay sucks, though.” Gon shrugged. “So does the work environment,” he said. “But still . . . it’s the CIA.” “What’s wrong with our work environment?” Kelly asked as he too stood. His workstation was on Shion’s left. Gon’s was directly in front of hers, and Jenny’s cubicle was adjacent to Kelly’s. The pen—as they lovingly called their hellhole office space—was located behind the mechanical room with its noisy water heaters and compressors. “I mean, really, what’s wrong with it?” he asked again, sounding bewildered. Kelly was as clueless as ever, but also endearing, Shion thought. Whenever she looked at him, she was reminded of Pig-Pen in the old Peanuts cartoon. Kelly always looked disheveled. He was absolutely brilliant, yet he couldn’t seem to find his mouth when he was eating, and his short-sleeved shirt usually had at least one stain. This morning there were two. One was jelly from the raspberry-filled doughnuts Jenny had brought in. The big red spot was just above the black ink stain from the cartridge pen in his white shirt pocket. Kelly tucked in his shirttail for the third time that morning and said, “I like being down here. It’s cozy.” “We work in the corner of the basement without any windows,” Jenny pointed out. “So what?” Kelly asked. “Where we work doesn’t make us any less important. We’re all part of a team.” “I’d like to be a part of the team that has windows,” Jenny said. “Can’t have everything. Say, Shion, how’s the knee?” he asked,suddenly changing subjects. She gingerly lifted the icepack and surveyed the damage. “The swelling’s gone down.” “How’d it happen?” Gon asked. He was the only one who hadn’t heard the grisly details. Jenny ran her fingers through her short dark curls and said, “An old lady nearly killed her.” .. “With her Cadillac,” Kelly said. “It happened in her parking garage. The woman obviously didn’t see her. There really ought to be an age restriction on renewing a driver’s license.” “Did she hit you?” Gon asked. “No,” Shion answered. “I dove to get out of her way when she came roaring around the corner. I ended up flying across the hood of a Mercedes and whacked my knee on the hood ornament. I recognized the Cadillac. It belongs to Mrs. Speigel, who lives in my building. I think she’s about ninety. She’s not supposed to drive anymore, but every once in a while I’ll see her taking the car out to do errands.” “Did she stop?” Gon asked. . She shook her head. “I don’t think she had a clue I was there. She was accelerating so fast I was just glad there weren’t any other people in her way.” “You’re right, Kelly,” Jenny said. She disappeared behind her cubicle wall, bent down to push the box of copy paper into the corner, and then stood on top of it. She was suddenly as tall as Gon. “There should be an age limit on keeping a license. Shion told us the woman was so little she couldn’t see her head over the back of the seat. Just a puff of gray hair.” “Our bodies shrink as we age,” Gon said. “Just think, Jenny. When you’re ninety, no one will be able to see you.” Jenny, a petite five feet two inches, wasn’t offended. “I’ll just wear higher heels.” The phone rang, interrupting the conversation. Shion jumped at the sound, then checked the time. It was 10:14. “This is it,” she whispered as it rang a second time. “Answer it,” Jenny anxiously demanded. Shion picked up the phone on the third ring. “Shion .” “Mr. Bright would like to see you in his office at ten-thirty, Miss .” She recognized the voice. Bright’s secretary had a distinct Maine accent. “I’ll be there.” Three pairs of eyes watched her as she hung up the phone. “Oh, boy,” she whispered. “What?” Jenny, the most impatient of the group, demanded. “Bright wants to see me.” “Uh-oh. That can’t be good.” Gon made the remark, and then, as if he realized he’d said something he shouldn’t have, added, “You want us to go with you?” “You’d do that?” Shion asked, surprised by the offer. “I don’t want to, but I would.” “It’s okay. I’ll take the bullet alone.” “I think we should all go,” Jenny said. “A mass firing. I mean, we’re all in this together, right?” “Yes,” Shion agreed. “But you three tried to talk me out of going to Andrews. Remember? I’m the only one who screwed up.” She stood, put the icepack on top of the file cabinet, and reached for her jacket. “This can’t be good,” Gon repeated. “They’re breaking the chain of command. It must be really bad to get the boss’s boss involved. Bright was just promoted to head of in-house operations.” “Which means he’s now the boss’s boss’s boss,” Jenny pointed out. “I wonder if all the bosses will be there,” Kelly said. “Right,” Shion muttered. “Maybe all three of them want to take a turn firing me.” She buttoned her suit jacket and then said, “How do I look?” “Like someone tried to run over you,” Gon said. “Your hose are shredded,” Jenny told her. “I know. I thought I had another pair in my drawer, but I didn’t.” “I’ve got an extra pair.” “Thanks, Jenny, but you’re a petite, and I’m not. Gon, Kelly, turn around or sit down.” As soon as they turned their backs, she reached up under her skirt and pulled off her panty hose. Then she put her heels back on.