Page 18 of Reptile Dysfunction
My breath catches, and I know who he’s talking about, even though part of me doesn’t want to admit it. Part of me was hoping this new transplant would eventually grow bored at trying to pick apart my integrity.
“Wait, slow down.” My jaw drops as he explains the reporter’s latest move. The night cleaning crew reported her late-night escapade in the town hall the other day. Sergeant Adams went to question her and caught her with stolen records in plain sight. As a result, she’s currently being detained at the station.
“And she thinks I’m corrupt?” Where do some people get off? And why? What did I do?
I take a deep breath, willing myself to ask a favor. “Can I see her? Would that be alright?”
“More than alright,” Sergeant Adams replies. “I was about to suggest it. People who break into town hall don’t go away on their own.”
“Do you think I can convince her I am who I say I am?” I hope he says yes, though I’m inclined to think those who go around breaking and entering in the name of freedom of the press, or whatever she uses as an excuse for her actions, don’t budge easily. If ever.
“I think she believes in what she’s doing,” came the sergeant’s voice after a few moments of consideration.
I’m relieved when he finally speaks, and I rush to the station to meet with her. The interrogation room is bright and charming as far as interrogation rooms go, complete with pleasant lighting, comfortable chairs, and a table that doesn’t squeak when you lean on it.
But then I wonder if it would look quite so appealing if the most beautiful woman I had ever seen wasn’t sitting in the middle of it.
She sits arms crossed staring at the fern dangling from the ceiling in the corner. I try to break the ice with a joke. “It’s not bugged if that’s what you think it’s there for.” I sink into the chair across from her and smile.
“Is this you being charming?”
“It’s me being myself.” I shrug. “I’m well aware of your… interest in my interests.”
“In my experience, most politicians don’t get to where they are because they’re good at heart.”
She looks me in the eye, then studies the snakes swirling above me. I fight the urge to narrow my eyes, knowing I won’t be earning any goodwill glaring at her.
“Would most politicians have a face-to-face with you, offering him or herself to you as an open book?” I ask.
Why is it so hard to figure out what she’s thinking? Her big brown eyes gaze into mine, and it feels like she’s trying to read my thoughts, to figure out my angle rather than take in what I have to say. I want her to believe in me, and I tell myself it’s just for the good of my job as mayor.
But a little part of me thinks it’s because I don’t like the thought of such a beautiful woman being distrustful of me. Are these the actions of the calm, confident mayor I know I am, or a lovesick teenager trying to win her approval? Because I’m not about to be fooled into becoming the latter, no matter how pretty she is.
In any case, the expression on her face makes one thing clear. There’s no way I’m getting through to her.
“He or she would if they had something to hide,” she snaps back, placing her chin in her hand while getting closer.
I cross my arms and lean them on the table. “That doesn’t even make sense. The opposite makes sense.”
“If they’re not good at hiding stuff, which you are. You wouldn’t have gotten to where you have, even in a place like this, if you weren’t good at cleaning up after yourself.”
“What if I have nothing to clean up?” I ask, hoping my voice comes across as casual as I intended. I don’t want her to think I care what she thinks about Curiosity, even though I could have done without the ‘place like this’ jab.
She thinks she’s hit rock bottom being here or something, I think, then blink away the thought. I have a bigger problem. She’s using me to take it out on.
“That’s what they always say when they don’t think they’ll get caught. You’ll be singing a different tune when I come back with the evidence, so you might as well save us both the energy and confess.”
“That’s the worst line of reasoning I’ve ever heard. And who’s they?” I ask, just as Sergeant Adams enters holding two sodas.
“You tell me.”
“Look, I’m just asking you not to link my hard work and dedication to making this town a better place with corruption you’ve seen elsewhere.” I take the soda from Sergeant Adams’s hand and crack the top. “Your blind ambition to sniff out a big story is clouding your ability to discern truth from assumption.” I set the open can down and slide it toward her, then open the second for myself.
“That’s a mighty fancy sentence, Mr. Mayor,” she replies, taking the drink in her hand. “Did you practice that in the mirror before you came over?”
This woman is both infuriating and somehow fascinating. I want to shake her and see if I can’t knock some sense into her, and also laugh, and maybe do both at the same time. I tamp down the urge to do either, thinking over my current predicament.
She takes a big gulp of the drink, leaning back in her chair as if she hadn’t heard a word. What do I need to do to get through to this woman?