He watched the two men sitting across from his desk. He mainly watched the tense dark-haired man, but would sometimes flit his eyes in the direction of the other to see if something could be read on his face. Hendriks was not a trusting person. He constantly watched for the nervous blink, the little telltale tic that would indicate not all was kosher. “Slim, Nicholas. In light of your recent behavior, very slim.” He silenced the tense man’s protest with a stabbing motion of his pencil. He tilted back in his chair. Stared for a while at the ceiling, as if lost in thought. The Deputy Commissioner had a dream. He yearned to leave his clean but plain office and sit at the plush solid-oak desk of a commissioner. It didn’t have to be in New York. Any major city would do. Commissioners generally changed with administrations. This was a big election year, and come November a lot of places would be looking around for a new top cop.
