Half-Resurrection Blues_ A Bone Street Rumba Novel - Daniel Jose Older Page 0,43

seeing as his own assault on one of them was the inciting incident that led to the attack.” Now I sound like I’m blaming him for his own death. I want to get out of here so badly it hurts.

An uneasy silence follows my words. Then the voice says, “I see. Continue.”

“Upon withdrawal from the scene, I absconded to what I deemed to be safer territory, namely Eastern Parkway on the corner of Franklin Avenue.”

“At this point you were with Agent Washington?”

“Correct. I was carrying him, actually.”

“He was unconscious?”

“Honestly . . .” I take a breath and then start again with less growl. “I wasn’t able to determine Agent Washington’s level of consciousness because I was too busy”—not getting my ass murdered—“absconding.”

Fuck.

“I see.”

“When I paused at the specified intersection, I then had time to check on my superior and discovered that he was in dire need of medical attention, having sustained an unknown injury from his contact with the ngk machinery.” Which was all y’all’s brilliant idea, jackasses.

The shroud in the middle of the semicircle steps forward, and for the first time I can make out his features: a hyperaggressive chin, sharp eyebrows, and the fakest of smiles. It’s Chairman Botus, the only one of the Ignoble Seven High Council chairmen to ever let his identity be known. I hate that grin he’s wearing like a cheap suit after a bad date, and I hate that he’s towering over me, immersed in shadows. “And here, Agent Delacruz, is where things get murky, so to speak.”

“Hardly,” I say. I’m doing everything not to take the bait, but the whole conversation is so infuriating.

“Ah. Do explain.” Botus leans forward like he really wants to hear what I have to say.

“Agent Washington’s condition was such that, as I stated”—easy Carlos, easy—“he required immediate medical attention. So I . . .”

“So you brought an unconscious agent of the Council to the safe house of a non-Council, unregulated entity.”

“Esther is . . .”

“And left him there.”

“I . . .”

“Did you, Agent Delacruz, file a report with the Council in regard to the incident?”

I hate being interrupted. “I left a message.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have two-way telepathy, Chairman, because I’m not fully dead.”

Botus widens his smile. “Of course.”

“So the Council has generously set up a phone line that I report to, and I left the information on the machine.” I wonder if the sarcasm is gushingly obvious. Then I decide I don’t really care either way.

A moment passes. Botus is probably confirming this information with some other party.

“And did you know, Agent Delacruz, that this house ghost in question—”

“Esther.”

“—has been known to harbor and give aid to various non-Council entities?”

“Esther is the most proficient ghost healer I know. She personally attended to—”

“That wasn’t the question.”

I let a few seconds slip past. “The Council’s healing services would not have been administered in a timely enough fashion, giving the circumsta—”

“Also not the question, Agent Delacruz. The question was, did you know—”

“That Esther had non-Council ghosts up in her library sometimes? I did know that, yes. Found that out that very night, in fact.”

My face burns with irritation. I want to lunge forward and throttle this ridiculous Botus person. Instead I stay quiet while some more murmured conferences go on around me.

“Interesting,” Botus finally says, although at this point it’s not at all clear what he’s referring to. “Your case will be reviewed by the committee. Your complicity has been useful in our understanding of the situation, Agent Delacruz.”

Cock. Time grumbles along like a limping beggar as I wait in a side room. Suddenly, I’m not so good at patience anymore. I can’t stop pacing, and the feeling that nothing’s happening rankles my brain. After a grueling hour, they beckon me back in and explain that they’re issuing me a verbal admonition for breach of protocol and will be keeping a sharp eye on me. They add, almost reluctantly, that I’m receiving official commendation for saving the life of a superior officer, and that I’ll be taking over as lead agent on the case. None of it means anything, of course. It’s all empty words and paperwork. I’m just glad to be out of that damn place.

I leave in a cloud of vague humiliation. I’d hoped, by the end, to at least storm out after some righteous speech. Or maybe go all stony and silent as the frustrated committee buffeted me helplessly with their idiotic questions. I wanted some tiny triumph amid all that unseemliness. Instead, it just sputtered out