"Very funny," I replied dialing Estrada's cell phone and praying ever so slightly.
"Hello," I said. "I'm so sorry to bother you so early in the morning, Sir."
"Something is up," Estrada said. I had never called him, Sir before. "You can't talk right now. Are you in trouble?"
"Yes to the first and I'm not sure to the second."
"Where are you?"
"In your friend's office."
I never took my eyes off Creighton. He was drinking it in.
"Put George on."
"He's not here right now. I'll let you talk to one of your boys, if you'd like."
I pushed the speaker button and handed the phone to Creighton.
"Creighton, here, Sir,"
"What's the problem?"
"We're having trouble with the fingerprints from a homicide scene."
"What's the problem?" There was a slight edge to Estrada's tone now.
"A set came back from the FBI no match and yet we have a copy on file in our office."
"It's standard procedure, you dumb shit," Estrada said. "The FBI looks after their own."
I think it was Estrada's laugh that really pissed Creighton off. I wasn't amazed by Estrada's use of profanity. He saved it for special occasions when he wished to let you know that you had screwed up big time. It was Creighton's own little please explain. It looked good on him.
I couldn't resist a chortle. Under his tan, Creighton's neck reddened.
"When the Feds have a man undercover, no one can identify him," Estrada said. "Let it go."
"But Sir, he must be considered a suspect. It's procedure."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Estrada said. "Until then do nothing. Do you understand? Sit tight!"
It was an uncomfortable twenty minutes, for Creighton that is. I filled my face and did the morning crossword. Once Estrada arrived, it didn't take long for the matter to be straightened out. It just seemed to be an extraordinary long time. It would take a long time though before Creighton would get off my case, unless of course I was able to contribute something to the cause and make him look good. I wisely refrained from asking who the victim was.
"Don't leave town," Creighton said with a snotty smile.
"If you want me, call Juan. He has the number of my contact in the FBI. Good day, gentlemen," I said.
"I'll walk you out."
As Estrada and I exited the security office, I sensed Creighton's eyes on my back. I guess it was Juan's hand on my shoulder. I was grateful for his show of support. What had started out as problem for me had now become Creighton's dilemma.
"Take care, Max," he said. We stood there in the morning sun and shot the shit for a moment. "Get in the car on the driver's side."
"I'll be cautious," I said. "I'm more afraid of Creighton than anything."
"Creighton has a tendency to jump. He's a lousy checkers player. He reminds me of Lestrade. Here comes my black and white now. This should throw Creighton off the trail."
"Just don't make Creighton look too foolish," I said giving Juan a farewell handshake and my keys.
"Here comes my black and white now," Estrada said. "Park my car in its usual spot.
When I got back to the room, Christie was already packed. George was there.
"Use me as a contact anytime, Max."
"I may just take you up on it. Sorry about the little matter of the murder."
"Think nothing of it. We're glad to be of service. I'm sure that it will all come out in the wash."