I don't know whether I did the right thing for Kittul. I know it made sense at the time. I knew it was more likely to help her than hurt her. I even know now, with the perfect vision of hindsight, she would have died sooner if I hadn't. But I still don't know if I did the right thing. I used to be so certain about things.

Then I met Baby Sue, my little girl lost.

Yeah, I know, it's an incredibly cutesy name. I would go on about it, but I've been training myself to avoid snickering when I hear it. I hope to quell that impulse before I die, probably from repeated blunt force trauma.

It's not that Sue is violent. She's really sweet most of the time, but she has a bit of a temper.

Of course, I know what you're thinking now, too. I say she's sweet, but she has a temper, and I'm afraid of blunt force trauma, so I must be in an abusive relationship. Sue's never done anything to me. She's never even implied that she would, not really. I've just seen her when someone makes her mad, or when someone threatens a person she loves. Now that I think about it, the only times I've seen her mad were when someone threatened someone she loves.

Actually, now that I really think about it, I was always that someone.

I'm jumping ahead, which isn't like me, but one thought about Sue and my sense of balance goes out the window. For one thing, you're probably wondering 'other than your significant other, who is Sue?'

Not too long ago, I had a conversation with Al about how I felt about him, how he felt about me, and why we couldn't date. Now, at the end of that, I figured we would pine away for one another for a while. I would watch him while he worked on his degree, and by the time he graduated he would find someone younger, more attractive, maybe someone richer than me even. That's because, and stay with me here, I am utterly incapable of understanding the depths to which Al will sink when he wants to get his way. He's a lot like Sue that way. There's a reason for that, but we'll get to that in a bit.

I don't think Al would ever hurt someone else to get his way, but he would certainly hurt himself. At the end of our conversation about us, I asked him if he had a sister, and he asked if I would be interested. I made a smart assed remark, and things went downhill from there.

Not the way you're thinking. Al didn't get upset. In fact, he smiled that gorgeous smile at me. I still remember that particular smile to this day, because that day my life took a sharp left turn toward weird.

Al looked across the table at me, a strange light in his eyes, "You mean that, don't you?"

I thought I'd offended him. I can be an ass, but I'm not completely insensitive, "I'm sorry. Look, it's not easy for me, seeing you every day like this and keeping a lid on it, but it's the right thing to do."

Al shrugged. "If you say so. I don't see why you're so worried about my academic standing, though."

I rolled my eyes, "Because you're brilliant. I don't know why you don’t have a degree already. Heck, you could get my old job easily."

That dimmed his smile, where talking about me getting with his sister didn't. "No, no I couldn't, Zed. I love the States, but I really don't think they love me back."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know I'm not from the States, right?"

"You've never said so specifically, but I'd kind of guessed. Why? I mean, why does it matter?"

Al looked away; with anyone else, I'd think they were lying. With Al I recognized it as a habit of his when he searched for words. That was my first clue he wasn't from the States, or any English-speaking part of the world, really. His vocabulary was good; despite a slight accent you would never guess he grew up speaking Hebrew. Once in a while, though, he would stop in the middle of a sentence, stare off into the distance for a while, and then start speaking again. After a while I figured out that when he looked away, he was trying to figure a way around the missing words.

Al looked back at me, his words finally arranged, "I got in a bit of trouble in Israel. I… Oh, Hell. This is a long story. We're going to be here a while."

I glanced at my watch. I had nowhere to be for a while. "How long could it take?"

"Look, I'm just not ready to talk about it… Here… Now… I've done things I'm not proud of. I've been someone I really loathe now. I'd like to tell you about it, but…" He looked away again, and I squashed my impulse to interrupt. Eventually he looked back at me, a big smile on his face. "I'll tell you what. Let's go have lunch and I'll tell you all about it."

The warning in my voice was heartfelt. I couldn't spend too much time near him, or things would happen. "Al…"

"As friends, Zed. Y'know, we'll grab some falafel, a patch of grass, and sit and discuss how I'm a reformed bad guy, the way the football players sit around and discuss their sexual conquests. Nothing homoerotic about that at all."

He got me with that last one. I knocked my coffee over laughing.

I did mention that I'm a klutz, right?

***

My second class of the day became an exquisite torture for me, and I finally realized why a relationship with a student was such a bad idea. I started out trying to ignore Al, but he really was one of my better students. The problem, of course, was that every time I called on him, I couldn’t be sure if I was doing so because I thought he would be right, or because I wanted to hear his voice.

Somehow, I staggered through that class. By the end of it, I was sure everyone in the room knew I was sweet on Al, but one of the young women in class complimented me on the lecture that day. She told me she'd never understood fourth dimensional topography before that day, but my lecture and the dialogue with the students after illustrated it for her.

I took that for what it was worth. Every year I've had at least one student come up to me and tell me how I've changed their life. I noticed after the first year it was always young, personable students who weren't doing as well as they could have if they' d put in the time studying. Still, it always felt good to have someone compliment my teaching.

After the rest of the class left, Al wandered up to where I gathered my papers. When he spoke, it was with a diffidence that surprised me coming from him. "So. Dr. Silver. Are we still on for lunch?"

I shook my head, but not in negation. "Actually, I'd really like to, but I've got to pick my cat up from the vet. Can we get together for dinner tonight?"

"Whoa. Here I thought we'd be grabbing some cheap Greek food and maybe hitting a park, and you go and up the ante on me. I don't think I can make dinner."

"Oh."

My disappointment must have shown on my face. "Hey, some of us have jobs, you know."

"Really? What do you do?"

"I drive a tow truck, and you have to ask?"

Heat rushed to my face, "That was kind of a stupid question, wasn't it?"

"Tell you what. I've got a little bit of family stuff to take care of today. Why don't you collect your cat, I'll... deal with my sister and pick up the food, and then we'll meet up on the green across the street."

Normally I would have been a bit less eager to do something like a public picnic, but after the dimwitted comment about his employment, I didn't feel up to arguing for a more secluded place. "Sure."

Al grinned and gave me a comradely tap on the shoulder, "See you there!"

***

I left Kittul snuggled in a nest of blankets near her litter box. Part of me suspected she wouldn't use it this time, either, but another part of me thought I was being paranoid. I'd see what I'd see. I left two cans of tuna open next to her as well just in case she woke up hungry.

When I got to the green, Al had a pair of folding chairs and a little table set up. He was arguing with campus security, both of them gesturing to the cooler sitting on the table.

"Look, boy, you can't have open alcohol on the campus."

I glanced at the cooler. Six long necked brown bottles stuck out from the top of it. Something about them tickled my memory, but before I could pursue it, the tone of Al's voice pulled my attention away from lunch.

"Yeah. I'm sure you'd tell the Greeks that if they had a rally."

I hadn't heard that tone in Al's voice since the first time we met. I hurried over to see if I could intervene before things got worse. I got there as the officer hissed something under his breath. I couldn't make out the words, but Al's fists clenched. I was sure he was about to take a swing.

"Is there a problem, officer?"

The security guard seemed a little startled that someone would interrupt him. When he turned to look at me, his glare made it obvious he didn't appreciate my intervention. Before he could speak, I took the offensive.

"Al is one of the best students in my topography lecture series. I'm sure he wouldn't intentionally cause trouble. What seems to be the problem?"

When I mentioned my class, the guard seemed startled. I've always looked young for my age, even with the beard. He glanced at the ID hanging from the lanyard on my belt. I’m sure he caught the word 'adjunct' next to my professorial status, and equally sure that's what kept him off balance. An adjunct professor might be some random schlep called in to teach a course no one else wanted, or they might be politically connected to one of the department chairs, or they might be a visiting celebrity in their field.

The better guards kept themselves informed. This wasn't one of the better guards; I recognized him from a few years back. He'd been an athlete and business student with an overinflated opinion of his skill in both areas. I watched as he tried to place me, saw the moment he realized he had no idea who I was, and that there were two chances in three I could end his pitiful job if I were so inclined. It turned my stomach the way the smile oozed onto his face, replacing the look of hateful disdain.

"I'm sorry, professor. I didn't realize you were meeting him here, or I'd have waited for you. The problem is we can't have open bottles of alcohol on campus."

I looked down at the cooler. Even a quick glance showed me why the bottles seemed familiar. I lifted one from the cooler, used my shirt tail to protect my hand as I popped the top, and filled my mouth with a swallow of bittersweet, carbonated refreshment. The guard watched my every action, his anger becoming more and more evident. When he opened his mouth to speak, I turned the label toward him.

"Last time I checked, IBC root beer doesn't contain any alcohol. The 'beer' in the name is purely honorific."

I watched with a great deal of satisfaction as the picture-perfect security guard swallowed the bile he'd been about to spew at us. It took him a moment to contain himself, during which Al opened another soda and started drinking.

"Sorry to have bothered you, professor." With that insincere apology, the guard turned and stalked off to yell at some girls who were sunbathing a few hundred feet away.

"I… hate… bigots." Al kept his voice under careful control. I knew he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs. I felt the same way. I briefly wondered what the blonde poster boy would do if one of the Agency's Special Investigative Teams descended on his apartment looking for signs of 'non-human' activity later.

"Yeah, me too." When Al raised an eyebrow, I lowered myself to a chair, kicked my feet out in an exaggerated slouch, and continued. "You probably don't realize, but bigots don't like Jew-boys any more than they like Sand Fleas."

I watched Al waver on the razor's edge between taking offense and laughing. I gave him a big goofy grin and did my best fake southern drawl. "Them there Nigger lovin' Jew-boys and Whops and Spics and Ay-rab Muslins need to larn them the love o' Christ afore we show 'em some Christian charity and pay their way back to Africa."

I don't know what part got to him, but somewhere in my fake diatribe, Al snorted IBC up his nose. As he wheezed and laughed, I dug through the bag tucked under the table. I handed him a napkin and pulled out an oversized falafel sandwich.

I started eating to give him time to recover. Falafel isn't normally my favorite; I'm a carnivore at heart. This batch, however, tasted too much like meat to put down. Anyhow, I dug into the falafel with gusto. Meanwhile Al cleaned himself up and started eating at a much more relaxed pace. Right around when I was finishing, he rolled up half of his sandwich and put it back in the bag.

"Not hungry?"

"Sue'll eat that later."

I'd never thought seriously about Al's financial situation before, but just then I realized how strapped his family must be. I reached for my wallet.

"How much is my share?"

He looked at me, pride sparking his anger, which he covered inexpertly with a negligent toss of the head. "Don't worry about it. You can pick up the tab next time or something."

I stopped in mid reach. I acknowledged his comment, then started cleaning up my paper trash. "Okay, but only if you tell me where you got these."

"Sure. There's a new Greek place down at the Deptford Mall. I can show you…?"

"Food court?"

"Yep."

"I'll be able to find it myself. Thanks, though."

"Okay." Al ruffled through the cooler, reaching deeper than the IBCs. After a few seconds searching and he pulled out a pair of nearly identical bottles, the labels stripped off by the melted ice. He popped the top on both and handed me one.

"I know I'm breaking the rules, but I thought about it while I was… While you were picking up your cat from the vet."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Thought about what?"

"What I wanted to talk to you about. I'm not sure I can do it stone cold sober."

"And one beer is going to loosen you up enough to talk? Really? You must be a cheap date."

Al laughed. I loved the sound of his laugh, so deep and rich. "No, no. Really, alcohol is just an excuse. I can tell myself afterward that you got me drunk before I screwed up your life, too."

His words sent a frisson of fear through me. To hide it, I took a swig from the bottle. A sweet beer, probably Caribbean. I grinned at the thought of what the security guard would say if he knew. Al took my smile for encouragement. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and started talking. The words leaked from him in bits and pieces, forcing me to sift through them for meaning.

"I'm originally from Palestine. I'm an orphan. That’s not uncommon in Palestine, I know. I still stood out a little; my parents weren't killed in the fighting. Well, not that I know of. I was a foundling. Y'know, to this day I don't know what nationality I am? I might be Jewish, or at least part. I never did convert, though. In the end, I think that made a difference."

He stopped, a look of frustration twisting his face. "I'm messing this all up. Maybe… maybe I should have my… sister tell you."

Something stood out there. I mentioned it mainly to keep him talking. "Sister? How do you have a sister if you're a foundling?"

Al looked panicked for a second, then started talking again. "It does sound strange when you put it that way, doesn't it?"

"Just a little."

"Okay. I'll try again. I'm a foundling. A nice Jewish couple took me in. Mr. and Mrs. Katz tried for years to have kids of their own, but never managed it. When I showed up at the hospital where Mrs. Katz went for her fertility treatments, they thought it an answer to prayer."

He chuckled, and I took another swallow of the cool Jamaican beer. When he spoke again, his voice held the humor that was never far from the surface. "That must have been inconvenient for them. Culturally, they did all the right things, but they really didn't believe. I talked about it with Mr. Katz when I was, um, around nine and starting to question things like religion."

"How old were you when they adopted you?"

"Legally? I'm not sure the paperwork ever went through. There were all kinds of hoops to jump through, and Mr. Katz was never the sort to jump easily. Unofficially, though, I was somewhere around three months old when they took me home."

I stopped in mid-swallow, pulling my beer away to blurt out, "And you don't call them 'Mom' and 'Dad'?"

Al looked around, scanning to see if anyone had wandered into earshot. When he saw that no one had come close enough to hear, he said, without moving his lips, "In person, yeah. I love them as much as any kid ever loved his parents. But it's better for them if nobody realizes that."

His gaze pierced me, and for a moment the same fear I felt the first time I met him welled up in me again. Without cracking a smile, he said, "If I thought anyone was putting someone I love in danger, I would kill them without a second thought."

I shook my head to dispel that sudden flash of fear. This was the same young man who cracked bad math jokes with me. "Look, Al, you know I'd never do anything like that. Your secret is safe with me."

"Even from your sisters?"

My shock must have shown on my face. "What… How do you…" I broke off, willing him to explain.

"Zed, someday you'll realize you can't just walk away from your past and pretend it never happened."

My pulse started to race. I'd thought Al was just what he seemed, a nice young man who wanted to learn about math. Now he was showing me a different side, and it terrified me, because given how shabbily the Agency and my own family treated me, I wasn't sure I would be able to decide between them.

Al wasn't finished talking, though. He spoke quietly, like the words didn't want to come out, but he forced them out, as if for my benefit. "It took me a long time to understand that. I'm still not sure I do."

My confusion and my fear mingled in my voice, even I could hear them. "What are you talking about?"

"Mind not running away until I'm done talking?"

"That depends. Are you going to try to recruit me into a terrorist organization?"

Al sighed. "I suppose I deserve that. It pisses me off, but I do. The only 'organization' I belong to is Triple A." He grimaced, "Although my membership is under an alias. Most of my paperwork is."

Sudden inspiration struck. "Were your adoptive parents really named Katz?"

Al grinned at me and took a swig of beer. "You're sharp. The Agency was completely stupid to let you go. The only thing I fibbed about was the name. Everything about the situation is just about as I described."

He leaned back again, obviously hunting for where to pick up his story. He closed his eyes again and continued, a sad smile creeping across his face. "For a kid growing up in that part of the world, I suppose I had a pretty good childhood. I went to a decent school. I had my own TV, a cell phone, and unlike a lot of kids, violence and deprivation never touched me directly.”

"At school, I looked enough like the other kids to pass for one of them, at least until I hit puberty. After that, things started changing. The way I looked… polarized things. To a few of the kids, I was still Al, but most of them hated me for what I looked like. A big minority, all girls, took one look at my face and decided I was the perfect opportunity to go 'slumming' without any risk."

I could see from the look on Al's face that the female attention hadn't been appreciated. "You knew back then?"

He knew without my saying what I was talking about. "Yeah. It was really weird, keeping a secret I knew most of them would despise me for, when my face made them hate me already. In my early teens, while I was still trying to fit in, I had a succession of beards. None of them lasted that long. Once they got in my bed, the thrill started to wane, y'see."

"You slept with them?"

"Yeah. I'm not impotent with women. I just don't find them very attractive. My sister taught me the trick to it, really."

I raised an eyebrow. He kept talking about his sister. The hesitation when he called her that had mostly disappeared, but I'm not as forgetful as I seem, even for someone as handsome as Al. I looked over and realized he was still sitting there with his eyes closed, sipping on his beer. I prompted him with a simple, "Sister?"

"Yeah. She's part of what prompted this whole thing, isn't she?" He heaved a sigh, chugged down the rest of his beer, and pulled out another. When he had the top off and the first swallow gone, he continued. "She's not really my sister, in case you hadn't guessed."

"Yeah. Despite appearances to the contrary, I'm not an idiot."

"Really? Couldn't tell." As I spluttered on a swallow of beer that went down the wrong way, he continued, a smile on his face. "Mr. and Mrs. Katz wanted to adopt her, too, but I don't think they ever managed to get the paperwork pushed through with her, either. She stayed with them sometimes, but mostly she lived on the street. Day to day, they never knew where she was, and I think that hurt them worse than they let on to me.

"I managed to fit in, at least until I was in my teens. Sue… didn't. A big part of that was her looks. I almost look right, whether I'm in a crowd of Israelis or a crowd of Palestinians. Not to be arrogant about it, but I look good enough that either group will give me a pass if I say the right things… If I hate the right people, just to prove I'm not one of the undesirables.”

"Sue… Sue doesn’t look like me. No reason for her to, I guess, but it's always amused me that she doesn't. I look like this," he waved a hand down his front, and I took the time to drink in his wavy black hair, his strong, chiseled features, and the obvious strength in his body, "and the only thing that you'll see change any time soon is I might darken a little from the sun I’m getting today. Sue is blonde. Dirty, but still blonde."

He stopped, snorting his beer again. "Hell, if you said that to her, she'd probably ask you what her being dirty had to do with her being blonde. When she stays out of the sun, which she does most of the time, she about the coloration of… I dunno. Lady Di? Elizabeth Hurley? That chick with the eyes from the cover of National Geo, at her darkest? Anyhow, when she gets sun she darkens up to about the shade I am now pretty quick.”

"That's mostly why she stayed out of the sun." Al's smile evaporated, his mouth a twisted scar across his face. "Clients pay extra for exotics. If you don't have a pimp, you can't guarantee you'll work every night. You might be hiding out in a cellar somewhere. So, she had to charge extra, and pretending she was English was a way to do that." Suddenly his smile returned, although this time it was an ugly thing, dark humor fending off old hurt.

"What is it?" I prompted.

"That's probably the worst reason anyone ever earned straight A's in a class. She had to be perfectly fluent in English, so she could fake out her clients. She had to know the geography, too. She was pretty enough that she'd get international businessmen picking her up sometimes. By the time she was thirteen, she'd pretty much filled out. By the time she was fifteen, she knew more about the dark side of human nature than anyone ever ought to have to know."

I could see how much this was hurting him to talk about. I cleared my throat to get his attention. When he opened his eyes and looked at me, I spoke, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Yeah, I do. If I don't, she'll find a way to get my ass kicked. She wants to meet you, you know."

At the time, I had no idea why my heart started to pound. I knew who I wanted. I knew why I couldn't have him. He looked across at me, an impish smile on his face. It should have been completely out of place, but somehow it seemed completely natural.

"What, you can't have me, so you're going to pawn me off on your sister?"

That brilliant grin of his was even more stunning in the bright early afternoon sunlight. I sat there like a deer caught in headlights, staring at his mouth. At first, I didn't understand the words; when I did they didn't make much more sense. "Yeah… something like that."

"Right. Look, if you don't feel comfortable talking about things, we don't have to."

The moment I said it, I regretted it. I expected Al to react badly. It surprised me when he didn't. Instead, his smile turned a little wistful, he shook his head, and he continued, "I want you to know. She wants you to know."

"How does she even know me?"

"You think we have a lot to talk about? We're not exactly in mentally stimulating fields. Neither of us wants to do anything actively immoral, and… Look, let me finish, ok?”

I thought for a moment about how he had something to do tonight, but if he didn't want to go, I certainly didn’t mind his company. "Okay. I'm listening."

"Yeah, you like… what's that word? Starts with P?"

I grinned, "Yeah, but I thought we weren't going to talk about that, 'cause you're still my student."

It was good to hear Al laugh out loud. "No, moron. Not 'penis'. Um… it's ped-something. Ped… ped… peder… No, that's not it."

"I should hope not."

"Pedantry! That's the one. You like pedantry too much to just listen."

I pouted a little, I'm sure. "I'm trying."

"Yeah, you are. Anyhow, I was in my teens. Mr. Katz was trying to get me a part time job, but… The Israelis thought I was just a little too Arabic. The Palestinians thought I was just a little too Jewish. There's just so much prejudice on both sides of that issue. It's really sad, too. I knew people on both sides of the debate who were decent people, who didn't have a mean bone in their body.

"I remember two things really, really clearly. Well, three, but the third one came later. The first two… Mr. Katz got beaten up by a gang of Jewish kids for being too, I dunno, too…" Al petered off. I waited a few seconds for him to continue. When I realized what he was trying to say, I realized why he couldn't say it. With a sinking feeling in my heart, I said "For having you."

I could see the tears in his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. "Yeah. For keeping me around, despite how obvious it was that I was a terrorist, a suicide bomber waiting to happen, or if not that then a rapist wanting to take advantage of all of their women." A sarcastic smile twisted his lips at that. I understood perfectly; he forced himself to perform with those same women so he would be accepted, then had that turned on him and used to vilify him. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, almost as if he were ashamed.

"The really bad part? They were right. I can tell myself they drove me to it, but they were right. One night after some kids… Might even have been the same gang… Most of the kids I grew up with were just kids, y'know? Some of them jealous that I looked good, some of them pitying me for not being one of the Chosen People, but most of them too damn busy with their own lives to give a shit about me. Anyway, a gang found Sue on the street one night, walking home from a job. They caught her by surprise and beat the hell out of her.”

"Mr. Katz went to the authorities, but Sue didn’t… She wasn't the best witness. I was so sick of everything by that point, if there was a switch on the world, I would have just shut it off."

Somehow, I knew, "One of the organizations approached you then, didn’t they?"

His voice was low, full of shame, "Sue, actually. They thought I was too soft. She was the one who told them the 'truth' about me, about how angry I was."

"How did you ever find the strength to turn them down?"

His voice a whisper now, a whisper that terrified me with its sincerity and shame. "I didn't."

A pall seemed to hang over the bright spring day, chilling me to the bone. My own voice as low as his, I said, "You're still working for them, aren't you?"

I expected him to get angry. I hoped he would deny it, and at the same time hoped he wouldn't try. I still didn't think he'd ever lied to me. The look on his face went from self-loathing to a sudden self-deprecating grin. "I haven't reported to them since I met you. I thought about it this afternoon. I have the feeling that Sue would find a way to kick my ass if I screwed everything up with you before she got… got to meet you."

It felt like someone was dragging a knife through my guts. "You lied to me."

"Everybody lies, Zed. I tried not to lie to you, but…" He sighed, seeming to shrink into himself. "I deceived you. I made you think I was just another poor Arab immigrant."

I couldn't help it. I told you I'm an ass sometimes. "You're not?"

I don't know why, but that seemed to break something in him. He started to chuckle, and soon was laughing so hard he had to set his beer down. The sunbathing girls across the green looked up at us, wondering what the hell was so funny. I faked a smile and waved, and they waved back. When I turned my attention back to Al, he was still chuckling, but tears ran down his face.

"I guess I am, now. Just another illegal trying to scrape by in the land of opportunity."

"Just like that? You expect me to believe you've renounced your wicked ways and joined the side of goodness and light? Please, Al, I’m not an idiot."

His laughter died, but he didn't get angry. It's funny, after that first time I don't recall seeing Al angry at me. Part of me wondered why. Part of me wanted to get up and leave. Another part of me wished we were anyone but who we were. When he looked up, if his smile was sad, his voice was heartbreaking. "Look, I know I've screwed up. I know things can't be… can't be the way I'd like between us. Please, though, for what might have been, can you do me a favor?"

I wanted to lash out at him, but I couldn't muster the energy. "What?"

"My sister wants you to come see her dance tonight."

"I've got to wash my cat."

I wished he would look away. I couldn't take the hurt in his eyes. "Look, I… I'm not going to lie to you again. Ever. If I deceive you… I… shit. I'll try my best not to lie to you. Sue won't lie to you. Ever."

"Why should I believe you?"

"She's not going to try to get you to reveal state secrets, or Agency secrets, or anything else. She's going to dance for you." He was pleading, desperate for me to believe him.

"Oh, really. She's going to dance for me. Why?"

His grin came back. Even with tears in his eyes, it pulled at me. Especially with tears in his eyes. "She's turned on by smart guys. She's going to dance for you, and she's going to seduce you."

"Oh. She's going to seduce me. She's not a Mata Hari or anything, she just gets her kicks seducing guys with security clearances and knowledge of cryptography?"

"No. She gets her kicks… Actually, she doesn't get any kicks, come to think of it. You're the first kicks she's gone looking for since we left Israel. Hell, she didn't look for them there. And they were tricks, not kicks."

"I'm going to believe you why?"

Al frowned, and despite everything I knew I would do anything to take that frown away. "I'm not asking you to believe. I'm just asking you to go see her dance."

I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth, "Where is she dancing?"

"Moondancers. She's headlining for the next three nights."

"Moondancers. That's…"

"Yeah. It's a strip club. Did you expect her to learn classical ballet on the streets of Jerusalem?"

I bit my tongue. It wasn't what I meant, and I suspected he knew it. It was a Shifter club. I watched the challenge in his eyes. He wasn't challenging me to go. He was challenging me to hurt him by saying I wouldn't go. I couldn't say yes, but I couldn't hurt him.

I fished through the cooler looking for another beer. There were none left. I pulled out another IBC, cut myself popping the top, and took a long swallow. "I'll think about it."

***

I sat on my bed beside Kittul. She still acted woozy from the sedatives at the vet. I scratched her ears gently, just enough to let her know I was there. She purred softly but steadily, even when I stopped moving my fingers and just laid my hand in front of her.

Idly I toyed with her new ID tag. When I'd brought her home, I'd resisted getting her a collar. I guess some part of me thought she might be more than a simple feral cat. I hoped she was really a Shifter, really the little bedraggled singing girl I remembered from the street.

It really wasn't that much of a stretch. Plenty of wild born Shifters wound up being functionally feral humans. A small but significant portion of them had minimal or no language skills. Of the rest, almost all of them were involved with petty crime, gangs, or both. There were a few who worked with the Agency, and a few more who worked in the intelligence community, where their superior senses and reactions made them naturals at gathering physical intelligence on the ground.

I thought about that for a while. With humans, most spies weren't flashy James Bond types. They were clerks and typists and other functionaries. They weren't supermen. The biggest single feature about them was their ability to blend in. The biggest single feature about Shifters was their inability to do so. I'd never thought about it before, but now that I did, something didn't make sense. Most of the Shifters working for the Agency were Leo. There were almost no Neko, even though they were natural sneaks.

Kittul stretched and mewed sleepily, and I kneaded her back. I felt the implanted ID chip just under her skin. Between that and the tag, if she ever got out, she would be safe enough. Both listed her name and address, and the chip had a promise of a small reward. I couldn't afford much, but I could set aside enough for a night out and give it to whoever brought my cat back.

I sat there wondering why I'd resisted doing this for so long. Kittul was an outdoor cat, and every now and then I saw her staring through the window. I knew she wanted the freedom to run the streets again, but I couldn't bring myself to expose her to that without some assurance that she would be ok. A Neko, a housecat Shifter, would be just fine unless she ran into a pack of feral Shifters, and even then, the worst that was likely to happen was that they impressed her into their clutter.

After a while I picked up my briefcase, spread the papers out on the bed, and started grading them to the sound of Kittul purring. Since her implant, she'd been purring non-stop, even though she'd slept most of the time since then. I guessed that meant she was happy here. She was happy to finally belong somewhere.

Maybe that's the way Al felt. If some group from the Middle East thought he could seduce me, that meant he was a good actor. Then again, maybe they just studied me and thought I was an easy mark for him. I looked down at the papers I was marking. The one I was reading right now wasn't Al's, but I saw at least three quotes from our classroom discussions. He was such a huge part of my life already. I doubted he knew how much.

I finished checking the papers, stuffed them back in my briefcase, and settled down for the night. Maybe morning would bring more answers.