A Man Who Hates Desks
He put the phone down and started to pace. The phone call had left him restless. He wanted to be out in the field as soon as possible. He had never considered himself an especially good desk jockey, as evidenced by his tremendous procrastination in getting his reports done in a timely manner. Some agents were perfectly at home behind their desk, hidden away in a dull office that was practically indistinguishable from the offices on either side of it. But not Nick. He felt at home only when he was in the field; when he was live on the scene and in the middle of the action. He was much better at putting the pieces of a case together when he could study the actual location, examine the actual evidence, and speak with witnesses directly. Sometimes, he did get a chance to work like that. Just as often, though, he was kept in his office to pour over reports and photographs and statements and expected to solve cases by staring at stacks of paperwork, endless pages of information that soon began to look identical. Well, this case offered him an excuse to get out into the field and he damn well was going to make the most of it.
After twenty minutes, the phone on his desk rang again. He took the call, hung up after a few seconds, and left the office immediately.