"What gave me away?"
"Your coat." She didn't move; the back of her leather swivel chair continued to block his view of her. "It's not the same one I gave you."
(more)
He could feel the heat of the ceiling lamp on the back of his neck. Best not to fidget; she would hear him if he did. He tried to keep his breathing calm and even.
"What makes you say that?" To further convince himself that he was, in fact, politely puzzled, he drew up his eyebrows into an appropriately quizzical expression.
"Jeremy, darling, I know what I give out. You are wearing a clever facsimile. Quite clever. I want to know who made it for you."
He was sweating now. It was ruining the collar of his shirt.
"Just something the ladies at the consignment shop put together." He licked his suddenly parched lips. "Am I in trouble for something?"
The swivel chair creaked quietly. "Jeremy. I want you to understand that I do not hand out these gifts lightly. As one of my trusted enforcers, you are to treat them with care and respect. They are more vital than you realise. Now." She paused. The scent of expensive tobacco reached his nostrils. "Where did your real coat go?"
"I..." He gulped. Started again. "I lost it. In the raid on Sirl's depot, I got into fisticuffs with some Greens. They grabbed it and ran. I thought it was strange, why they'd steal an ordinary coat..."
"The Greens have it? Very good. I do appreciate your honesty. Do you want to know why this matters, Jeremy?"
"O-of course, ma'am."
The chair finally rotated to face him. She was pointing a black revolver at him. "The coats I give out are bulletproof."(less)
