“Whassup, my man?” Edwin asked as he carried his tray from the serving line to the table where Falcon sat and spooned peas around his plastic plate.
Falcon told him, “Thank God that Chief Raven talked the skipper into canning the old cook. This new guy, he’s pretty good. Taste the pork chops. There’s a hint of cumin, cilantro, and an accent of basil at the back of the palate, real spices! I could kiss Chief Raven.”
“You and every other man in this nuthouse, Professor. Leastways, if he’s breathin’ and has a set dangling ’tween his legs.”
Edwin gave Falcon a sidelong glance. “How’s the major doing?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
“Ah, they got you back on your meds again?” Edwin took a bite. “What’s that like, having imaginary people just pop into your life like that?”
Falcon used his napkin to wipe his lips. “They’re just as real as you are sitting there. Clinicians, depending on which school of psychology they come from, call it a form of Dissociative Identity Disorder. Or ‘Dissociative Disorder Not Otherwise Specified.’ See Axis I in the DSM-V-TR classification system.”
Edwin studied Falcon. “I mean, you see Major Marks and this Theresa woman, right?”
“I do.”
“They call that hallucinations, boss. How come you’re not always listed as schizophrenic?”
Falcon shrugged. “MRI doesn’t show the diagnostic physical abnormalities in the brain, and I suffer from paranoia. I don’t exhibit a lot of the asocial behaviors. That’s why some clinicians tack on that NOS—Not Otherwise Specified.”
“This seat taken?” Chief Raven asked as she approached the table. Edwin glanced up and did a double take. Raven had Catalina Talavera in tow. Cat looked uncertainly at him and Falcon, an anxious smile on her delicate lips.
“Do sit,” Falcon offered graciously.
Heart leaping, Edwin averted his eyes, giving a slight shrug.
“Thought we’d join you,” Raven continued nonchalantly as she slipped into a seat. “Cat’s usual place is too close to those loud-ass Zoomies. A couple of them didn’t shower this week.”
Edwin tried to smile, alternately delighted and horrified that Cat was seating herself straight across from him. “I, uh, guess you talked the Skipper into getting us a new cook,” he stuttered.
Raven shot him a grin. “Yeah, Skipper’s pretty good.” She glanced up at the dark globe of the camera. “You hear that, Skipper?”
“The Skipper doesn’t monitor us all the time,” Falcon said.
“Of course he does. He’s shooting beams into our heads to read our thoughts.” Raven sought to stab her bendy fork into the pork chop, gave it up, and used her fingers. Through a mouthful, she added, “I got that straight from the paranoid schizophrenics.”
Catalina Talavera actually laughed. “That’s rather pejorative, Chief.”
Raven chewed, swallowed, and made a face. “God, if we can’t make fun of being crazy in here, the only thing left to live for is an increase in meds.”
“The major says that something’s going to happen soon,” Falcon noted. “He says all the signs indicate something big for all of us.”
“Speaking of people in need of an increase in meds, how’s the major been?” Raven wolfed another bite off her pork chop. “Damn, that’s good! What is that taste?”
“Cumin, basil, and something,” Edwin mustered the nerve to say. Then, risking it all, he told Cat, “You’ve looked sad lately, Dr. Talavera.”
She looked him in the eyes, and his heart skipped as she said, “Since meds are the current topic of conversation, the Skipper’s stopped mine.”
“And how’s that working for you?” Raven flipped loose black hair over her shoulder.
Cat shrugged as she struggled to cut the pork chop with her flimsy plastic knife. “He gave me a project . . . and access to the computer for research.”
“The computer?” Edwin said in disbelief.
Cat shot him a wary look. “I can only access articles, the email and social sites are blocked.”
“Yeah, but that’s easy.” Edwin shifted on his chair, gesturing with his knife. “All you gotta do . . .” And he launched into the codes that could . . .
“Hey!” Raven barked, “We already know you’re the smartest son-of-a-bitch alive when it comes to computers.”
Falcon addressed himself to Cat. “Edwin, here, is somewhat unique. He actually chose to be here. Like you, Doctor, he exhibits no true classifiable mental disorder beyond a lack of sense.”
“Shit! I got sense outa my—”
“Language, Edwin,” Falcon warned softly with a slight inclination of his head toward Cat Talavera.
Holy shit! They set this up! Embarrassed, he suffered a hot spear of anxiety. Bless God for making him black, wasn’t no flush to give him away. He shot a narrow-eyed glance at Chief Raven as she ripped the last bit of tissue from the pork chop bone and studied it thoughtfully.
“Somebody’s not thinking,” Raven mused. “Look at the point that spinous process makes. I could flat do some damage with this little bone.”
“Spinous what?” Edwin asked.
“The protrusion on the bone,” Cat said. “But I don’t understand what you mean, Chief.”
Raven’s left eyebrow arched. “I could punch that sharp point right through someone’s jugular.”
Cat Talavera paled, her wide-eyed gaze sliding sidelong in the chief’s direction.
“It’s all right, Cat,” Edwin managed to say. “Of all the people in here, you trust the chief first, and the others second, if at all.”
At that, Raven’s expression wavered. “Trust? Shit. The only person in here you trust? That’s the Skipper. Me, I just get people killed.”
At that she shoved her chair back, took her plate, tossed it into the trash, and strode purposefully from the room.
“What did I do?” Edwin cried.
“You? Nothing,” Falcon replied. “SEAL training did most of it . . . and the Taliban did the rest when they detonated that IED.”
Cat said uncertainly, “She seems so strong and capable.”
“Oh, yes,” Falcon told her with a sympathetic smile. “She can take care of everyone in the world but herself.”
Edwin was studying the sharp spur of bone on his pork chop. Only Raven would make a weapon out of the thing. “Now, you want to talk about not fitting in, man, there’s always Gray.”
“She’s an anomaly,” Falcon agreed, his gaze going vacant. “A true puzzle. Cat being here, we can understand. Like Chief Raven’s pork chop, she’s a weapon when used properly.”
“I am?” Cat stopped short, a forkful of potatoes halfway to her mouth.
“Gray, however, eludes analysis. Everything about her is wrong.” Falcon’s brow furrowed. “On those occasions when she’s taken in and out, I’ve watched her. It’s as if she’s misplaced in time and space.”
“I don’t understand,” Cat murmured.
“Neither do I,” Falcon agreed as his vision cleared. “Nor does the major, and that’s most interesting.”