Chapter 21
The local weatherwoman thinks a Chinook is on its way Friday afternoon that will raise temperatures from a bone-chilling minus fifteen degrees Celsius to a small reprieve of three degrees above zero. The chill in Lacroix's office is equal to the cold outside, but I doubt warm winds will improve the trouble between us. He and I have been avoiding each other since I spoke with Meshango without his consent. For the last five minutes, I've been weighing my options. I estimate that I've got three. Either I can ignore Lacroix, kiss his ass, or tell him to go screw himself.
The idea of kissing his ass isn't an option, so that takes care of number two. Option three isn't looking much better. More than likely it'll end with me sorting paperclips in Tuktoyaktuk. Nobody in authority has
