Free The Rule of Nine by Steve Martini

supposed to be angry. You should be pointing at the door when you tell me to go, and you never, never, never end by saying please. It sounds like you’re asking permission to go to the bathroom. Trust me. I’ve been thrown out of better offices than this. I have a lot of experience. I know what I’m talking about.”
    â€œThanks for the dramatic critique,” I tell her. “Now you can go.”
    â€œThat’s better,” she says. “I mean I’m still not convinced that you’re about to turn the desk over on top of me. But at least you didn’t say please. It’s a step,” she says.
    I stand there looking at her. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.
    â€œNow I’ve hurt your feelings,” she says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Listen, it was cute. Really. And I’m flattered that youwould do it for me. To take the risk, I mean, to put yourself out there like that. That takes a lot of courage. Let me guess. I’m going to bet that you don’t have a lot of authority with little children or dogs. Am I right?”
    â€œNow I’m starting to get angry,” I tell her.
    â€œGood,” she says. “It has to be real. It has to come from the gut or no one’s gonna believe it.”
    â€œI want you to go.” I point toward the door.
    â€œYes, but how badly do you want it? I don’t see any real passion.”
    I try to hold a stern expression but I can’t. I start to laugh.
    â€œThere you go,” she says. “Back to my question now about children and dogs.”
    I’m shaking my head as I laugh. She’s destroyed me.
    â€œI thought so. They have a sixth sense for false anger. They can read it in a heartbeat.”
    â€œIs that so?” I slump back into my chair.
    â€œChildren just laugh, but dogs will try to take advantage of you. They’ll turn you into a littermate.” The laugh lines come to life deep within her tawny complexion as she smiles at me.
    â€œI’m not your enemy. Believe me. You can call the police and have me thrown out, or have me arrested if it makes you feel better, but do me the courtesy of answering at least one question.”
    I would ask her what, but sound judgment tells me not to.
    â€œI want to know why you haven’t told the press or the public what you know about the events in Coronado. Why you haven’t made any public statement about what was on that truck. You see, we already know the device was nuclear. What we don’t understand is why you haven’t said anything. People need to know how close they came. The next time they may not be as lucky.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œActing talent and confidence skills come from the same area of the brain,” she says. “Your gifts must be elsewhere because you don’t lie very well either.”
    â€œNow that’s something you would know about,” I tell her.
    â€œThey put pressure on you, didn’t they? The FBI, NSA, the Justice Department? They’ve threatened you, to keep you quiet. What did they say?”
    â€œI’m practicing being silent and steely eyed,” I tell her.
    â€œYou can trust me,” she says.
    â€œOf course I can. You come with such sterling credentials.” For all I know she could be working undercover with Thorpe, sent here to test me, to see if I’ll talk. The way she’s holding her briefcase under her arm, pointed at me, it could easily be concealing a digital minicam and a mic. My face might be playing on a television at this moment in the back of a government van parked out in front.
    She notices me looking and glances down at her bag. “Ah. I see. You don’t trust me. You’re a careful man,” she says. “That’s good. Here.” She opens the briefcase, pulls out a file, two pens, a yellow notepad, and a small case for eyeglasses. When she opens the