“I do? Tell me, hotshot, how do you know what I know?”
“Get off my back, Clete.”
“What did you say?”
“Back off, Clete. I’m right on the edge of telling you to go fuck yourself.”
“Stand to attention, Lieutenant!”
“Okay,” Jimmy said, not moving except to give Clete the finger. “Go fuck yourself, Colonel.”
Frade leapt to his feet.
“I ordered you to come to attention!”
“And I didn’t. So now what?”
“And apologize to my wife for that obscenity!” Frade shouted.
“That I’ll do,” Cronley said. “Sorry, Dorotea.”
“I’ve heard the word before,” Dorotea said, and then added, “Sit down, Cletus.”
“What did you say?” he asked incredulously.
“I said sit down,” Dorotea said. “And be grateful these people know this childish behavior is between you as brothers, not officers.”
He looked at her but said nothing.
“You heard her, Cletus,” Cletus Marcus Howell said. “Sit down!”
Cletus slowly took his seat.
The old man was not through.
“And get off Jimmy’s back, Cletus,” he went on. “I don’t know and don’t care what set this off between you, but I do know that if it wasn’t for Jimmy, none of us would be sitting here. He’s earned the right to be heard.” He let that sink in, then said, “What’s on your mind, Jimmy?”
“No,” Dorotea said. “Let’s clear this up right now. Otherwise it’ll fester. What has Jimmy done, Cletus?”
Clete glared at Jimmy. “He knows.”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“The hell you don’t.”
“What has he done, Cletus?” Dorotea asked again, her tone exasperated.
“Okay, but you asked. He’s been in Argentina—what?—maybe five hours. And I walk into the wardrobe and he’s hitting on Marjorie.”
“That’s bullshit!” Jimmy exploded.
“She told you that, Cletus?” Dorotea asked.
“She didn’t have to. You should have seen her face. His face. It was written all over both of them.”
Dorotea laughed out loud.
“Cletus Frade,” she proclaimed, “protector of the family virgin!”