Rites and Wrongs

A familiar, heavily bandaged agent met Gladys as she left the interview facility.

She fought a smile. "Hello again, Two First Names."

Dale glowered. "How'd the talk go with Penelope?"

"Well enough for wishing."

"Which means..?"

"She'll be more friend-shaped, by and by. After a few unpleasant nights, assuming failure isn't fatal." Gladys started walking; it was quite a distance to the Agency's front gate. They liked the Farm wide-open, with minimal cover for escaping inmates.

He fell into step. "We appreciate the favor. Miss Dessemer's fraternal uncle is Senator-"

"I know."

"And it's an election year, so-"

"Public embarrassment, aye. A rogue witch-niece is terribly bad for his image," she snarked. "Politicians are faulty corkscrews of personality."

Dale made a business decision. Specifically, to mind his own business. "We settled your mortgage. You're good for the month, after a fashion."

"This month? It's the twenty-sixth!"

"That was the deal," he looked smug beneath the bandages.

She eyed him. "'Not a single farthing furbished to the poor, Prince John?'," Gladys quoted.

"What's your phrase? 'The world balances'? And I'm not a Sheriff."

Gladys grinned, impressed. "You've read Robin Hood?"

Dale stopped just before the turnstile. Click-clack. Slam. "Saw the movie. Have a good day, ma'am."

She waited until he walked off, then cupped both hands to shout. "Caw! Caw!"

Watching him duck and panic was worth it. Forgetting is painful.

​

WC: 230

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