#youlikeit - BLACKBIRD book 1

3. irony

Brock was about to start the second subject of the afternoon. The first one had taken him longer than usual, and he had finally figured out why: he was sort of anxious, his eyes stealing to the windows every few minutes, as if expecting to see a black column of smoke rising over the city skyline.

But nothing happened. They didn't hear any distant explosion, nobody stormed in to bring any breaking news. It looked like it had been a false alarm, or Gillian and her team had neutralized the threat.

Then an agent knocked and walked one step in. "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Agent Cooper needs to address the whole staff. It's an emergency," the agent said, her voice turning more and more apologetic as she had to hold Brock's scowl.

Had it gone off? Gillian hadn't gotten there in time? Were there civilian casualties? (Was she okay?)

The door opened wide to let SAC Cooper in.

Special Agent in Charge Alice Cooper, the new head of the FBI field office in Boston, was a slim, stiff woman in her late forties. Always wearing black tailored suits, tight bun and high heels to conceal she was rather short, she glowered all the time from behind her glasses, eternally pissed off. She had no known acquaintances inside the Bureau, and rumor had it she was so busy keeping everybody at a distance that even her husband—in a supervisory post that kept him conveniently traveling all over New England most of the time—called her by her last name.

Compared to her, even Brock looked friendly.

She strode into the conference room already barking. "There's been a bomb threat at a high school, so we're on alert as of now, in case the local authorities request our intervention." She turned to Brock. "I'm sorry, Agent Brockner, but we have to close the seminar, at least for today."

"Don't worry, we were almost done anyway," said Brock while the agents hurried out of the conference room.

She nodded curtly, spun around and left.

Brock heard a discreet cough behind him. He turned to find Henderson holding the seminar manual in his hands. Brock waited for him to explain himself.

"Sir, I was wondering, could you sign my manual?"

Brock's glare made Henderson turn a little pale. Was that damn rookie kidding him? He controlled his urge to yell at him. There's a bomb alert at a school, you brainless thug! And you're pulling a prank by asking me for a damn autograph?

"Not for me, sir." Henderson was almost stuttering. "You see, a friend of mine has been collecting your manuals for years, so I thought that maybe, if you'd be so kind..."

Still glaring at him as to X-ray his head and confirm it was full of air, Brock stretched out his hand. Henderson gave him the manual, not daring to smile. Brock took his own pen, his eyes fixed on Henderson's, not even blinking.

"The name," he growled.

Henderson needed half a second to understand. "Oh, it's Reg."

Brock's scowl caused Henderson a chill and he quickly corrected, "Gillian, sir. It's Lieutenant Gillian, with double L."

Brock looked down at the manual and signed it, telling himself that life's ironies would never cease to amaze him. He was signing the manual for such an intelligent, competent woman, but only so such a sack of witless muscles could get laid. While maybe she was about to blow up in little pieces. And there was nothing he could do to help any of it.

"She's with the Boston PD, you know?" Henderson chattered nervously, incapable of handling the silence. "And she has lots of manuals and papers you wrote over the last, I don't know, like, fifteen years. She's a hell of a cop, y' know? And she told me once that she solved many cases thanks to your writings. That's why I thought of asking you—"

Brock handed him back the manual, facing him with his best blank scowl—not easy, scowling only for the sake of it, but Brock had mastered it. There you go, jerk, now get lost. Henderson grabbed it with both hands and nodded at him with a childish grin—yay! I'm getting laid tonight! Since Brock kept staring at him without a word, Henderson nodded yet again and hurried out.