Page 39 of Reunion
“Why aren’t you assigned to work with him?” Johnson might be good, real good, but not ready to take over the role of trainer.
“Maybe you’d better ask Walter.”
Yeah, maybe he’d better say goodbye to the boss while he had the chance.
“Lucky?” The cockiness left Johnson’s voice.
“Uh-huh?”
“Good luck. I’m not much of a praying woman, but I’ve mentioned your name to a few folks who are.”
And Lucky’d changed his name so many times over the years, the man upstairs might scratch his head and ask, “Who?”
Good manners said he should thank her. She saved him from the effort. “I gotta run. Please keep me posted.”
He bluffed a bravado he didn’t quite make sincere. “Why, Johnson, I didn’t know you cared.”
She swooped so fast he didn’t have time to duck and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Of course I care. Who else’s ass am I gonna whoop at the gym?” She nodded toward the bulk of the SNB’s Department of Diversion Prevention and Control. “The rest of these guys can’t hold their own.”
She moseyed off down the hallway.
Lucky swiped at his cheek and wound up with a sticky red mess on his hand. “Yeah, Johnson,” he murmured, “I reckon I’ll miss you too.”
***
One day a stiff wind might cause a desk avalanche on Mount Paper Pile, aka Walter’s desk. He’d carved out enough space for his laptop and coffee cup. Books filled every shelf on a massive cabinet, and motivational posters hung from the walls, spouting the benefits of teamwork.
Lucky still liked working alone. Or with Bo or Johnson. Not that he’d confess.
“Why isn’t Bo taking my cases while I’m gone?” He dropped down into his usual chair in front of his boss’s desk. “You said something about no field exercises while I was gone.”
Walter paused mid-sip of a cup of sugar and whipped cream laden sludge. “And good morning to you too, Lucky.”
He nudged his boss again. “Johnson tells me you assigned her to my cases. Why?”
“Because I read your reports. She’s doing well under your instruction.”
“Not good enough to be cut loose with Landry.” There wasn’t one damned thing Walter could say to make Lucky breathe any easier.
Walter regarded Lucky with too-knowing eyes. “I’ll be acting as handler.”
Okay, maybe there was. “You? Why you? You haven’t been out of the office much in years.”
“All the more reason to do so now, wouldn’t you agree?”
Disagreeing with the boss might not be the smartest thing to do, but it did make for some lively debates. “You’re out of practice.” Nothing better happen to Rett Johnson.
“I’ll be coordinating with Jameson O’Donoghue.”
Brakes squealed in Lucky’s mind. “That sonofa…” As much as he’d like to put down the bastard, O’Donoghue knew his stuff. He’d never be as good as Lucky, but then again, who was?
Bo. And in about six months, Loretta Johnson might come in a close third. Who knew? Maybe Lucky might get handed another rookie to train with more than shit for brains, and he’d start mass producing good agents.
“Okay.” Lucky blew out a breath. “You and O’Donoghue relive your glory days. Where does that leave Bo?” They’d better not push Bo to the side. He’d worked too hard to get his head back on straight.
“I’ve got a special task in mind for him.”
“Oh?” So, no shoving to the side. But it better not be undercover for months. Lucky might need him.
