The Devil's Dust. C.B. Forrest

finally has an analogy that works for his condition. He smiles and nods.

      “Want a drink?” the Chief asks as he reaches into the drawer. He stops and looks up, and points to the side of his head. “Are you supposed to drink with your, you know?”

      “No, thanks,” Nolan says. “I’m on my way out to talk to Wade Garson.”

      The smile falls from the Chief’s face. He straightens up, shakes his head slowly.

      “Wade Garson? Why would you be going out to see Wade Garson at this hour, with your head all bandaged up, and you supposed to be on office duties anyway?”

      Celluci looks at a poster on the wall that has suddenly attracted his attention.

      “We should talk in private,” Nolan says.

      The Chief nods and closes the drawer, lifts up with a sigh.

      “Excuse me just a minute, Tony, but police business calls.”

      Out in the hallway, Gallagher puts his hand on Nolan’s shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. This close, Nolan can smell the peaty Scotch.

      “Who is this guy?” Nolan asks with a nod toward the office.