Alex insists that we talk in private first but there’s no place private left. The place is full of the kids I rescued and the efforts to deal with them. The sheriff’s pulled in every shift. Half the force and all the office staff are on the phones.

We go out to Alex’s car instead. It’s a roomy sedan, electric, big and black.

I say, “How come somethings run on electricity and other things, like my phone don’t?”

Alex does a double-take at me as he sits in the driver’s seat. “Well, we’re not going to risk our communications systems with electricity,” he says like it’s obvious. “Electricity sometimes fails, right? How are you going to call for help when the power’s out? What about all those people in the hospital with machines keeping them alive?”

“Where I’m from we have rechargeable batteries and backup power generators.”

“Ah,” says Alex. “We have those too but not for things like phones and the internet and stuff that’s got to be kept powered or people die.”

“Makes sense.”

“Now, what did you tell them?”

“Nothing!” I say. “Honest. They know that I helped rescue those kids and they know I stole the bikers’ bus to do it. They saw me sideswipe the police cruiser—.”

“You sideswiped a police cruiser?”

“I needed to get here as soon as I could before Otter got away.”

“There’s a fucking otter?”

“One of the bikers.”

“There’s a biker,” says Alex. “Whose name is Otter?”

“That’s what I thought, right? Turns out it’s a joke nickname from a Mel Brooks movie.”

“Right. Okay. Beside the point. You didn’t tell them anything though?”

“No, they put me right to bed last night. I think the FBI is kinda shielding me?”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because I work for them now,” I say. I hand him the documents that show I’m a consultant. “I’m gainfully employed.”

“With the FBI.”

“A consultant. Is that not a good idea?”

“It should help, I think.” Alex looked troubled. “You didn’t kill anybody this time?” he asks.

I wince.

“Like at the bank?” he says. “Sorry. I have to ask.”

“No. I didn’t hurt anybody.”

“You raided a motorcycle gang by yourself, rescued the kids they were trafficking, unarmed, and got away without so much as throwing a punch?”

“I’m not Batman.”

“Are you sure?” says Alex. His tone is deadly serious. “I mean, do you know you’re not Batman?”

“Yes, I know I’m not Batman,” I tell him. “Look, there was trouble. I could see it getting worse and knew whoever it was that did that to my bank account was in danger. I could see it. Right in front of me. Was I supposed to just sit there? I can’t do that.”

“Okay,” says Alex. “If that's it, I don’t think they’ll do anything about any of this.”

“I want to offer to pay for the damages to the cruiser,” I say. “I did that.”

Alex grins. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he says. “We’ve been in touch with the bank as your intermediaries. We’ve accepted a five thousand dollar reward from the bank for foiling the bank robbery.” He snorts. “It’s funny how comic book language kind of wiggles its way into the vernacular when comic book things happen, huh? Never thought I’d use the word ‘foiled’ professionally. Oh, and we low-balled the convenience store for a settlement. We figured you’d want the money sooner since I’m probably looking at everything you own in the world right now. Thirty thousand dollars, just about doubling your net worth.”

I’m shocked. “I have sixty thousand dollars?”

“Two lottery tickets, the settlement, and the bank reward means you have sixty-five thousand, minus anything you’ve spent like our modest fees. Oh, and you gave ten to Myra to play with too.”

“I did?”

“It was in the paperwork.”

I remember that now. She wanted to make some investments for me, get me some insurance and stuff. The bed and breakfast. “Is that what that was yesterday? With the random letters?”

“I have no idea,” Alex says with a shrug. “She won’t tell me anything about it. Oh! That’s right. She wanted me to ask you to text her another random bunch, same rules as before.”

I pull out my phone and start tapping out nonsense.

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Alex says, “I’ll hang out with you for a bit, okay? I’m sure they’ll have some questions, the sheriff and the FBI both, and I should be there for that. You tell them the truth, assuming that’s what you told me—.”

“It was.” I hit send on the message to Myra.

The three dots appear almost instantly and then, “Thank you!” pops up from my accountant.

“Be that as it may," Alex says. "The truth’s easier to keep straight. Our memories though are not perfect. Something to keep in mind. I’ll keep an eye out for anything that might smell like a contradiction and stop you if things get out of hand. If you have a question or something for me that you’d rather not get overheard, just say so and we can come back out here, okay?”

I nod.

We meet with Sheriff Abernathy in his office. Agent Tyler is here along with Detectives Torelli and Smythe. I assume that Ochoa is still working with Amir. The office has oak wood paneling, one of those big L-shaped desks with the hutch against the wall with bookshelves and cabinets. The shelves are stacked with three-ring binders with official logos on them. The walls are tastefully decorated with landscapes. He doesn’t have his credentials hanging on the wall or pictures of himself standing beside celebrities.

The sheriff is sitting behind his desk in his chair. Tyler, Torelli, and Smythe have taken up the chairs in front of his desk, though they’ve turned and arranged them to include a small leather sofa meant for me and Alex.

Abernathy says, “I was just telling Agent Tyler here that I’ve been on the phone with the District Attorney this morning. His office sees no reason to charge you for any of your actions last night, Mr. Walker, always assuming nothing further comes to light that should change that opinion. I don’t think that’s likely. If you’ve told us everything, that should be the case, right?”

I start to speak but Alex beats me to it.

He says, “We’re happy to hear it, sheriff.”

Abernathy says, “In fact, Willamette owes you quite a debt, Mr. Walker.” He leans back in his chair. I’m not so sure he’s being entirely genuine, but maybe that’s just his way. “First the Norrises, then the bank, and now this. Aren’t we lucky?”

Alex says, “Indeed we are, sheriff. I’m glad you seem to be coming around. Mr. Walker has only good intentions toward our community—.”

“If that were true, counselor,” says the sheriff. “He’d leave it. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Walker. You’ve done us yeoman service, but with those curses, I think you’d be better off living in a hut in the desert.”

I’m not sure he’s wrong. It pisses me off. I take a breath to say something, I’m not really sure what, but Tyler cuts me off this time.

“We’ll keep an eye on him, sheriff,” says the tall FBI agent.

“Indeed you will,” says Abernathy. “He’s your headache now. And if he blows up a school or burns down a church I’ll know just where to lodge my complaint.”

I know where he can lodge his complaint right now.

“This is not why we’re here,” says Tyler. She crosses her legs. “The preliminary reports from our bomb techs have found no evidence of any bomb materials from the morgue or the hospital room. They’re certain as of this morning, though they’ll keep looking, of course.”

“How can that be?” asks Smythe.

“We’re not sure,” says Tyler. “The medical examiner is just as positive that the explosions began inside each man.”

Abernathy is looking up at the ceiling and pursing his lips. “The bombs were inside them? What? Surgically implanted?”

“There’s no sign of that and no sign of any bombs,” says Tyler.

“Somebody goofed,” says Torelli.

“It’s why we’re double-checking,” says Tyler.

Smythe says, “For our part, we’re still going over the victims' statements and the data Mr. Amin gave us. So far, the Wild Specters don’t seem to have any connection to anything we've been looking into, either the explosions in the hospital, the bank robbery, the Norrises, or the other local kidnappings.”

Tyler says, “We’re pretty sure the Norrises are related to the local kidnappings, but aside from that we’ve got nothing.”

“Who are the Norrises?” I ask.

“The family you saved from Lansky,” says Smythe.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come!” says the sheriff.

It’s Ms. Towel. Tyler told me her name was Melanie. Dr. Melanie Linn. She’s a pretty woman in her early thirties, maybe five-six, curvy. Long blonde hair corkscrews past her face and halfway down her chest. Her eyes are wide and bright blue. She says, “Sheriff, lunch is coming up and— oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realizes."

“It’s okay, Doctor Linn,” says Abernathy. “What do you need?”

She sees me then and hesitates. She looks back over at the sheriff. “Lunch is coming up,” she says. “I’d like to go ahead and make arrangements. Some of them are coming out of their shock and eating will help them keep calm. I recommend we get some candy and snacks too.”

“Hopping them up on sugar really that good an idea?” asks Torelli.

“Yes, actually,” says Linn. “They’ll eat it and I’ll take them out back to run around in your lot, if that’s okay. Then, when they crash, they’ll get some more sleep. It’s loads better than panic and tears.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Abernathy with a sigh. “I’ll see to it.”

Linn turns to me. “I just want to apologize, Mr. Walker,” she says.

“Please,” I say. “There’s no need.”

“I hit you,” she says. “I endangered your escape on the bus.”

“Nah,” I say. “If anything you helped keep Otter distracted, so thank you.”

“Thank—? Otter?” she says.

“The biker’s name was Otter,” says Tyler.

“Oh,” says Linn. “Thank you.” She turns back to me. “I feel just awful about it anyway. After all you’ve done for these kids. I was just so upset. What they've gone through. Oh, dammit.” Holy shit, she’s started crying.

I stand but then I have no idea what to do. I can't hug her or even put a hand on her arm. So I shrug. “Please, Doctor Linn. You caught me in your home while you were…. Well, you were well within your rights.”

I look over at Tyler.

“Oh, I’d’ve shot you,” says Tyler.

Linn laughs. “At least it was a nice towel,” she says.

“I have no idea,” I say. “You were a blur in my peripheral vision, doc.”

Her face is a little red, either from the crying or the laughter or the embarrassment. Hey, I didn’t bring up the towel.

She lays a hand on my arm. “It’s nice of you to forgive me,” she says.

I say, “Lady, I was the one who broke into your home.”

“They told me it was an accident? You had the wrong floor and your key worked?” she says.

I say, “Lady, I was the one that came into your apartment by accident.”

She laughs and says, “We’ll in that case, I guess we forgive each other. I will if you will.”

I nod.

She gives me a smile, waves to everybody else, and shuts the door behind her as she leaves.

I sit and look over at Tyler whose face is suspiciously impassive. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

I snort. “You think Ochoa will apologize?”

“Not in a million years,” says Tyler.

“For that love tap?” says Torelli.

“Love tap?” I say. “That hurt!”

Smythe snorts. “Boy, which one of those ladies hit you harder? Ochoa or Doctor Linn?”

“Linn.”

“One of them is a trained FBI field agent?” says Smythe.

“Yeah, but she’s little,” I say.

Tyler reaches for both my hands. She looks me deep in the eye. “Never,” she says. “Never let her hear you say that.”

“She’s, what, five-two? I doubt it’s a surprise.”

“I warned you,” says Tyler. “I’m sure she feels just as bad as the doctor for slapping you. Even though she could have laid you out.”

I say, “No, she doesn’t.”

Tyler says, “No, she doesn’t.”

Abernathy grunts and says, “If we’re done gossiping like a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls, I believe we were comparing notes? You know, on the very troubling criminal cases involving kidnapping and murder, goddammit?”