Gordon pulled a standard FBI issue, black SUV into the commuter parking lot of Sitwell Community College. He and his partner walked across campus toward the sorority house.
“I’m offended,” Gordon said.
“When aren’t you offended?” Sharon said.
“Cut the bullshit,” Gordon said. “We’ve been partners for five years and not once did you ever tell me you were married.”
“Why would I?” Sharon asked. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Gordon said. “But also, everything. We can’t keep secrets from each other if we’re going to have each others’ backs. I told you about everyone I’ve been with.”
“In more excruciating detail than I ever cared to know, Gordo,” Sharon said. “And FYI, losers you pick up in bars and have one night stands with do not count as exes.”
As the partners crossed the quad, the sorority house came into view, as did the throng of protestors waiting outside.
“Ugh,” Sharon said. “Dirty unwashed hippies.”
“Hipsters,” Gordon said.
“Same thing,” Sharon said.
“So I gotta say your complete and total lack of any kind of a personal live is starting to make a lot of sense,” Gordon said.
“Shut up,” Sharon said.
“You still hung up this guy?” Gordon asked.
“What?” Sharon asked. “No.”
“Is that why you never go to a bar and have a one night stand?” Gordon asked. “Because you’re at home in your spinster apartment, crying over your ex with a tub full of rocky road in one hand and your cat in the other?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sharon said. “And leave Special Agent Jack Meower out of this.”
A familiar voice filled Sharon’s ears. It’d been a long time since she’d heard it.
Cole had gotten his hands on a bullhorn and was barking orders at the unruly protestors through the locked glass door.
“There is nothing to see here…everyone go home…”
“We have a right to know what’s going on!” one protestor shouted.
“Yeah!” another protestor shouted. “I sat in a criminal justice seminar for three days so I know you cops are all crooked!”
“Shit,” Gordon said as he rested his hand on the handle of his sidearm. “This could get ugly.”
Sharon rolled her eyes. “Men. Always reaching for their little guns.”
The lady agent put two fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. That got everyone’s attention. All of the protestors’ eyes were on her.
“Hello, everyone,” Sharon shouted. “My name is Sharon Walker. This is my associate, Gordon Bishop. We’re with the Florida Bureau of Labor Recruitment and we’ve been asked by the Dean of Sitwell Community College to come to campus and find jobs for all of the students.”
A particularly dopey looking hipster wearing a red and white striped, Cat in the Hat style rave hat looked at Sharon. “Say what now?”
“Helping people find good, honest work at a fair wage is what my partner and I do,” Sharon said. “And don’t worry, because everyone who is still here in five minutes will be put to work.”
Zoom! The protestors stampeded away from the sorority house, running in all different directions. Nothing was left but the crudely hand drawn posters they left behind.
“How the hell did you do that?” Gordon asked.
Sharon grinned. “Everyone knows the quickest way to get rid of a hipster is to offer him a job.”