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though, shutting it with a solid thud.
    “Whee-oh! I remember that sound.” His father was in the hallway, up on a ladder, fixing a light and grinning down at him. “What crawled up your ass, son?”
    God, not this too, not today. When would the old man retire? “Dad. I don’t need this right now.”
    His father peered down at him through thick glasses. “You mad ’cause the kid got promoted?”
    “You know?” Shit. It would’ve been nice if the CO had told him first, instead of informing his dad the janitor. The old man should just retire—he was old enough now that his dark skin stood out shockingly against the pure white of his bushy eyebrows.
    “Son, you know how fast gossip moves through this place. Everybody knows, and I can tell you that no one is happy about it. Poor kid.”
    Michael snapped out, “He’s jumping the queue. He’s too young. He’s a goddamned smart aleck who is completely full of himself.”
    His father cackled. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”
    “We are nothing alike.” That would have come out better if it hadn’t sounded quite so whiny. Michael bit his tongue.
    His father nodded serenely. “Yessir, whatever you say, sir. I know better than to argue with my superior officer.”
    There was nothing to say to that.
    The old man continued, “When are you bringing those three pretty girls of yours over for dinner? I haven’t seen my granddaughter in four whole days. Your mama was thinking Saturday would be nice. She’s got plans for jambalaya, and she wants to teach Minnie the recipe.”
    Michael sighed. “Don’t call her Minnie, Dad. You know that’s not her name.”
    His father frowned. “I’ll call her what I like; I’m old enough, and I’ve earned the right. She don’t mind. When are you going to call her your wife, that’s what I want to know. You ever gonna put rings on those gals’ fingers?”
    Not him too. It was bad enough listening to the voice in his own head. His parents had been harassing him to marry Kavitha, before Minal moved in—they’d been blessedly quiet on the subject for the past two years. But apparently, his grace period had ended. “I can’t marry both of them, not legally.” He wanted to, though. He was pretty sure.
    The old man snorted. “Did I ask what you could do legally? Do you think we give a damn what the law says? Your mama is dying to throw a wedding for her only child, boy, and if you know what’s good for you, you’re not going to make her wait much longer.” The old man hesitated, and then said, in a softer voice, “Her heart’s been acting up again, you know.”
    Michael’s own heart squeezed once, painfully. “I can’t talk about this now, Dad.” He had a case to solve. Now wasn’t the time. He wasn’t sure when it would be the right time. “We’ll come for dinner, okay? Tell Mama.” Maybe he’d propose this week; maybe he’d be bringing two fiancées to dinner on Saturday. Michael loved them, he did. But two wives? It wasn’t the life he’d planned for.
    His father shook his head. “All right. You be nice to that kid. The whole station’s going to give him hell, he doesn’t need to get it from his partner, too.” Then he turned back to the light above their heads, leaving Michael to face the long walk back to his desk. No more Sally at the desk facing his; that was Francis Xavier Black’s desk now.
    Terrific.

 
    The Big Bleed
     
     
    Part Three
    AFTER A TORTUROUS COMMUTE from Manhattan, Sheeba and Jamal had arrived at the spill site close to sundown, the worst possible time to conduct a visual investigation. Too bad we aren’t making a movie, Jamal thought. It was the golden hour, that last bit of the day when directors and cinematographers preferred to film the kissing scene or something equally romantic.
    Not that Stuntman had been involved in many such scenes. But he had frequently found his shooting days rearranged around the need to have the crew ready for golden hour. “Something funny