Part 8 (1/2)
”Oh, boy,” Jay said. ”A new floor for my parakeet's cage.”
”I didn't know you had a parakeet,” Toni said.
”I don't, but for that, I'd get one.”
”Somebody has to represent the agency at the L.A.W. convention in Kona on the Big Island in February,” Michaels said.
”Me! Me!” Jay said. ”Send me!”
”Catch us a crook and you can work on your tan.”
Joanna chuckled.
”What's funny?” Jay asked.
”Nothing. I'm just imagining myself on that black sand beach I've heard about.”
”Don't pack your bikini just yet,” Jay said.
”No? Well, I wouldn't start buying Coppertone in bulk either, if I were you.”
”I think that's got it,” Michaels said. ”Back to work.”
As the meeting broke up, Sergeant Julio Fernandez arrived. He nodded at Michaels, and moved to talk to Colonel Howard, where the senior officer stood talking to Lieutenant Winthrop.
”Colonel. Lieutenant.”
”Sarge,” Howard said.
Michaels caught a quick glimmer of something on Fernandez's face when he looked at the young woman. Well. He could understand how the sergeant might appreciate Winthrop.
Back at their offices, Toni approached Alex. ”Got a minute?”
”Sure.”
In his office, she produced a small package, wrapped and decorated with a red bow. ”Merry Christmas,” she said.
”Thank you. Can I open it now?”
”Nope. Got to wait until Susie opens her gifts. You'll want this then.”
”Ah, intrigue. All right, I'll wait. Here, I got you a little something.” He opened his desk drawer and removed a flat box, this one wrapped in the hardcopy Sunday cartoon section of the Arlington newspaper.
She smiled at the wrapping, hefted it. ”Book?”
”Go ahead and open it.”
She did, carefully peeling the tape from the edges and unfolding the colorful newsprint.
”You going to save the paper, Toni?”
”Sorry. Old habit.” She got to the book. ”Oh, wow.”
It was a 1972 first edition of Donn F. Draeger's The Weapons and Fighting Arts of Indonesia The Weapons and Fighting Arts of Indonesia.
”Where did you find this? It's a cla.s.sic.” She flipped through the pages, again with care, looking at the black-and-white ill.u.s.trations. ”I've never seen an original, only the on-demand-print and CD versions.”
He shrugged. ”Picked it up somewhere. I thought you might like it.”
Yes, he had ”picked it up somewhere,” all right. He'd had a bookseeker service hunting for six weeks for the thing, and it had cost him a week's salary when they'd found it. Oh, well. He didn't spend a lot of money. Outside of his living costs and Susie's child support, his only hobby was the restoration of old cars. His current project was a Plymouth Prowler. That wasn't cheap, but when he finally finished and sold the car, he'd get all he'd spent back, and then some. The book had made a dent in his bank account, but Toni deserved it. He couldn't do his job without her. And the look on her face when she saw the thing was worth a lot too. He smiled.
Toni was about to close the book when she got to the t.i.tle page. ”Hey, it's autographed!”
”Oh, really? Huh. How about that?” That autograph had jacked the price of the book up a few hundred dollars.
Impulsively, she hugged him.
G.o.d, she felt good, pressed against him that way. She could stay there all day...
Toni pulled away and gave him a big grin. ”Thanks. My gift is nothing compared to this. You shouldn't have.”
He shrugged. ”Hey, a big meteor could fall on me while I'm taking the trash out tomorrow and what good would money be? I really appreciate all you do around here, Toni.”
There was a silence that started to get awkward. He said, ”So, you're going home to see your folks?”
”Yes. There'll be a big gathering, all my brothers and sisters-in-law, and nieces and nephews, the uncles and aunts. Regular army of relatives.” She paused. ”I hope your visit with Susie goes okay.”
”Yeah.”
”Well, I'd better get back to work. Thanks again for the book, Alex.”
”You're welcome.”
Thursday, December 23rd, 6:45 a.m. Quantico, Virginia Joanna Winthrop took advantage of the take-off-work-early offer from Commander Michaels to book a deadhead seat on an early military jet leaving from Quantico and stopping off in Denver on its way to Alaska. When she mentioned it to Colonel Howard, Sarge Fernandez had offered to take her to the flight.
”I can catch a cab,” she'd said.
”No problem, Loot, I'm heading out that way anyhow, got some errands to run. I'll swing by and pick you up.”
It did make it easier for her. ”Sure.”
So now she rode in the front seat of Fernandez's personal car, a slate-gray seventeen-year-old Volvo sedan. She smiled. ”Funny, I'd have figured you for a little racier ride than this.”
”It gets me there. Slow and steady. And it doesn't spend much time in the shop.”