Survival Of The Fittest

54

Milo was at his desk at the West L.A. station when Captain Huber called him in.

Huber was doing paperwork at a chaotic desk and didn't look up or speak. His bald spot was pink, slightly flaky.

“Sir.”

“Your lucky day, Sturgis. Meeting downtown with Deputy Chief Wicks. What'd you do, solve a crime or something?”

“When?”

“Now. Ahora. They even sent a car and a driver- big Afro-Amer two-striper waiting just outside my office, you're really rating today.”

Huber stopped writing, but kept his head down. “Maybe it's an affirmative-action thing, diversity and all that good stuff. Don't look so glum.”

Never making eye contact, so he had no idea about Milo's expression.

“I-”

Now Huber looked up sharply, thick face mottled with anger. Wicks's call had caught him by surprise. Out of the loop.

Milo suddenly understood why and his bowels began to churn.

“What's that, Sturgis?”

“I'm on my way.”

“Looks like you are, indeed. Making any progress on your cases?”

“Which ones?” said Milo.

“All of them.”

“We're doing okay.”

“Good. Don't keep them waiting. Close the door on your way out.”