The fire tore through the building at a breakneck pace, skipping through air ducts and licking termite-riddled supports. A third-floor collapse cascaded down through the second, cutting off the firefighters' egress. Sgt. Lunes and his partner were trapped behind hungry tongues of fire. Theirs was a small substation that arrived on scene early, and there had been no indication of the inferno awaiting to erupt. Other responders were ten minutes out, but the sergeant felt they didn't have ten minutes left.

They retreated to the back of the building where a steel door offered a possible escape. They tried the knob, but it was bolted from the other side. Lunes yelled into his radio, praying someone would hear them. The force of both men against the door achieved nothing. Lunes turned to face the fire, a fate he had seen too many of his brothers fall to before, and realized he didn't tell his wife, Mildred, good-bye this morning. Despite the fear and the flames, an acceptance rolled through him, and was almost at peace when the clamor of metal against metal drew him back, and after a few more seconds, the door swung open.

In the other room stood a woman in a fireman's mask and little else by way of protection. Deanna tossed the crowbar aside. "You're welcome."

***

The firm that handled Jane's lottery winnings did not specialize in criminal law, but they had enough experience with white-collar cases that they understood the art of conversing with the police. One of the partners beat her to the station, and Jane marveled at his impeccable attire at three A.M. He asked for time for a consult, and they were allowed the interrogation room for a few minutes.

"Let me say this up front," said the lawyer. "This isn't good."

"What do you mean?"

"There's going to be a lot of politics in play here. Some believe that you got away with murder last month." He held up his hand to fend off a potential protest. "I'm not saying that's right; just saying it's true. Many feel the cops didn't investigate properly the first time, or else there was a cover-up.

"This is different. This is a second violent encounter in two months, and some think you were investigated lightly the first time. The media is going to scrutinize more than ever, the community, too, and the state's probably going to get involved. There is no way they are going to go easy on you. Is there anything you're not telling me, anything I need to know?"

"No. I went down there to help people out. I barely had time to do anything before he pulled a knife."

"And that's it. That's the truth, that's everything?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

He inspected her face a moment before nodding. "All right. But you need to answer only when I say, okay?" She nodded, and he waved to the glass window where people awaited.

The man who entered was a stranger, but familiar, someone she probably had passed in the halls when she was an officer. The man in the light-brown suit shook hands with Jane and her lawyer. "Evening. I'm Detective Veert with Major Crimes. I don't believe we've met."

"No," Jane said. "I don't think so." Her lawyer later explained that this was not conversational, but a means of insulating himself, showing no prior relationship or friendship.

The detective nodded. "Well, we just need to ask a few questions, clarify some things."

"Sure."
"Okay. So, from the beginning, can you explain why you were in the area?"

"I had recently come into a large amount of money and wanted to give some of it away to people who might need it."

"Right, and believe me, everyone here has heard about that, so congratulations. So, have you done this before?"

"No, this was the first time."

"So, the first time you try to give someone money, and they tried to rob you." He laughed.

Jane reciprocated laughter. "Pretty much."

"So, you wanted to distribute money to the needy. How much?"

Her lawyer placed a hand on her arm. "How is that relevant?"

"Your client said she wanted to give money away. If that's true, and if she never gave any of it away, then the money should still be in your possession, correct?"

"Yes." Jane glanced at the lawyer, who nodded, and she pulled the bills from her pocket.

"How much is that, might I ask?"

"Five hundred. The maximum I could withdraw from an ATM."

"And you planned on giving the man how much?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Forty, a hundred, I don't know."

"But maybe a hundred."

"Maybe."

The lawyer interrupted with, "Where is this going?"

"Well, let's say you were going to give him a hundred. Where'd you get the money from, exactly?"

"The ATM at Banco Republica." Jane shifted in her seat. "The one on Fisher, before Mallo St."

"Right. That's about five minutes away."

"I still don't see the issue," Jane's lawyer said.

"The issue is that you drove twenty minutes to find people to pass money out to. You give someone a hundred, and what, do that four more times and then go home?"

Jane shifted in her seat. "As I said, I hadn't thought that far through."

"And if I could ask, what made him so special?"

Jane's lawyer stopped her from speaking. "In what way?"

"In the way that several people witnessed the altercation shortly after it started, and they all stated that you had walked by right before. Why was it that you didn't offer them anything, Miss Berden?"

"I'm not sure."

"So are you saying you weren't thinking clearly. Had you had anything to drink at the time, or--"

"Of course not," the lawyer interjected. "She drove there. She was an officer. She knows better."

"Sure. You just have to see it from our side. It just doesn't make any sense, so if we could go over it again..."

And they went over it again and again, and then again some more. An hour and a half passed. Her lawyer prevented her from elaborating on her statement, reminding the officers that the onus was on the attacker to defend himself, not his client. After several repetitions, her lawyer stated that the interview was over. The investigators consented, saying there might be future questions. She signed a copy of her statement and waited for the lawyer to finish. A crowd grew at the processing desk as Creegan and others appeared to provide Jane silent support. A legal assistant from the firm showed up, sporting a black t-shirt and blue jeans like Jane's, and she had hair so similar that Jane realized it as being a wig.

The lawyer turned to Jane. "The press is waiting outside; it's a bit of a madhouse. Someone must have alerted the media, so Alicia's going to go out in your place." Alicia put on big sunglasses. "If you're able to go out the side or back..."

Sgt. Creegan nodded. "We have it covered."

"All right, then." The lawyer escorted Alicia, who kept her head down. Creegan and Jane exited through a side door to his car. It was four in the morning when they left the precinct.

***

The firemen were given a cursory exam by paramedics. Lunes removed his mask as he saw the woman from the fire strut by. "Ma'am. Excuse me." She turned with a light sarcastic grin. "I just wanted to say, thank you. My partner and I were almost goners."

"No problem. I was passing by and thought I heard some babies crying inside. Turns out it was just you two."

"Well, still, thank you, but you shouldn't have done that. That was dangerous, and pretty crazy, what you did."

"Are you calling me crazy?"

Lunes didn't want to insult the person that just saved his life. Plus, there was also the fact the smile and glint in her eyes disappeared, replaced by something darker. "No, I said what you did was."

"Hmm. All right, that's different. I will let that pass. You're welcome."

"I was just trying to say is that we thank you, and our families thank you. You're a hero."

"No, no. A superhero, maybe, but not a hero. The real heroes are you." The woman stood straight as a board, placed the back of her right hand against her forehead in a mad salute, and clicked her heels together. "On behalf of the people of this country, we thank you for your service." And with that, she strolled away into the darkness.

Lunes looked to his partner as the woman disappeared, and shook his head. "That's one crazy ass woman right there."

***

"Are you sure everything's good with you?" Sgt. Creegan asked.

"Yes," Jane said, "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Look, I know Jay. He's an alright guy. Just doing his job."

Jane stared out the window, checking the rearview mirror to see if any press vehicles were in pursuit. "I understand."

"Yeah." His words stopped with the car at a red light, and he exhaled quiet and deep. "You mentioned wanting to use your money to help."

"Yes."

"I hate to even mention...," and he hesitated as he started the car moving once more. "There's a fund at the station for the officers injured in the riots..."

"Oh, god, yes. I'm sorry. Absolutely," Jane said, focusing on him now. "I'll have it taken care of in the morning."

He nodded and dropped her off in front of her apartment, Jane having made protestations that she wanted to rest and would pick up her car in the morning. She tried to find sleep in her new bed, but her mind wandered to wonder if she had forfeited her last chance to do something extraordinary and good. Without a phone number for contact, only a visit in person was possible, that was, if she still would be permitted entrance. Jane would have to wait until morning to see.

***

Tommy Thompson hated the outside world, and it got no more outside than the middle of the woods. He didn't even like going out in his own neighborhood. Some kids liked running around, screaming and sweating. Tommy didn't see the point. He'd rather be on his Playstation or Xbox, shooting aliens or enemy soldiers than getting ready to shoot some harmless animal. If he wanted meat, they could go to Panda Burger.

He was here on his father's insistence. He was going to show Tommy what it was to be a man. His father never said those words, but Tommy knew that's what he was thinking. His father went hunting every other weekend when the weather and seasons allowed, as he always dropped an offer to Tommy, and each time, and Tommy dropped it right back. Tommy had no interest in learning what it was to be a man. Not that he meant the other thing, which his father probably suspected, but if manning up meant leaving air conditioning and easy access to refrigerators, toilets, and every creature comfort to stomp around like some prehistoric Neanderthal, Tommy wanted no part of it. This time, however, his father stated that they were going as if it were established fact. His mother said that it was important to Tommy's father and to give it a chance.

Tommy gave hunting a chance. He gave it a full half-hour chance. He wasn't sure if it actually was a half-hour, but it sure as hell felt like a half-hour, and in this perceived half-hour, he came to a conclusion that he could have arrived at a half-hour earlier: hunting sucked.

In science class, Tommy had been taught not to make assumptions until all the facts were in. These were the facts. Fact: His father said that despite the weather, they had to wear long sleeves because there were ticks that would bite their arms and burrow into any exposed skin and could give them nasty diseases. Fact: His father cautioned him about watching where they walked because there were several poisonous snakes native to the area. Fact: His father had showed him various piles of what he referred to as scat and explained what each could teach a person about their prey. Fact, and more importantly the fact that appeared around the half-hour mark: His father said in order to mask the odor of human scent, they needed to rub commercially purchased deer urine in their clothes and skin. That was it. That was the moment. It wasn't the plague bugs attacking their limbs or death snakes nipping at their heels. No, it was the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but look at piles of crap all the while dousing themselves in animal piss. That was where he could go home and give his mother an honest appraisal that hunting sucked.

His father found a trail, and despite honest efforts to pick up some cool tracking skills, Tommy didn't see it, couldn't figure out how it was done. It was all alien to him. His biggest concern was whether he'd be able to find any reliable cell service. He tolerated the crawling through the brush and weeds to get to a point where they were hidden near a small clearing with berry bushes that his father professed as deer magnets. At least Tommy got to hold a gun.

They lay there, hidden in the brush for hours, the feast for small red ants, when finally a doe ambled into view, eyes darting and ears twitching. Tommy had no interest in killing the thing, he just wanted to go home. If that meant blowing some deer brains all over the forest floor, he'd be more than willing to do it. His pee-covered father whispered how to line up a sight, how to aim for a lung. As much as gaming taught Tommy to go for a head shot, a shot to the body would have a greater chance of hitting the target and placing this day in the history books. It would be good to be able to say to his gamer friends that he had fired a real weapon and killed an animate object. He focused on the two metal tabs that were closest to his eye on the rifle and through them to the tab on the end of the barrel, ready to send a single shot forth.

The deer startled and hopped away as a crashing figure came charging out of the bushes. At first, Tommy only registered the large furry head and the fact that the creature ran upright, but as it passed, his mind processed the insane idea that this entity was actually a woman wearing a full wolf's head mask, black combat boots, and nothing else. Two thoughts came to Tommy's mind.

1. That was a good way to get ticks.

2. Hunting was awesome.

The entire scene lasted no more than ten seconds, and most of it obscured by trees and bushes and brush and leaves and every other damn thing that would have permitted Tommy to get a clear view. The woman, whoever she was, ran out, arms waving overhead, growling and howling, chasing the deer away, disappearing after it. A thought crossed Tommy's mind: Was this why his dad went hunting so often? Did this happen a lot? Was this some secret of hunting that was known by all hunters, but never spoken of aloud to those outside of the know?

By the way his father stood and from his expression, this seemed a shock. Tommy stood too, as it seemed the thing to do. As he did, across from them, bushes twitched and shivered. Both father and son raised their rifles in the direction, only to be greeted with a mirror image of another man and boy with weapons aimed at them. Tommy's father started yelling at them about how they could have shot him and his son, and they were rewarded with similar accusations, neither side to ever realize how right they were.

***

Before seven, an early morning call invited Jane to see the District Attorney, and she arrived with a different lawyer from the firm, all while managing to avoid the press. They had managed the meeting in relative anonymity, and an assistant escorted them to the office.

"Would you happen to know if they're talking about an attempted murder charge, or just assault?" Jane asked.

"I'm not the best to ask," the assistant said, "but the District attorney will be in soon."

"I'm just curious if there will be a trial or a plea bargain."

"Again, I'm not best to ask. Sorry," and the assistant exited.

Jane exchanged a glance with her solicitor, who had worn a frown from the time of their arrival. "Rumor through the grapevine is that it doesn't look good," he said.

"For the case?"

"No," the lawyer said. "For you."

***

Cindy stared up into the tree. Mona was so far up. She looked so scared. "Please come down, Mona." Mona meowed. "Mona, come down from there." Meow. "Mona, please. Mona, please come down." Meow.

Cindy looked around. Most of the neighbors were at work. Cindy was by herself. That was okay. Cindy's mom had gone to the store. She'd be back soon. Cindy's mom had told Cindy that she was only going to be gone for a while, and that Cindy was very grown up for seven, and that she trusted Cindy to stay inside. Cindy meant to keep her promise, but two squirrels were chasing a cardinal from the birdbath, so Cindy went out there to shoo them away and Mona ran out.

Mona never went outside. She was an indoor cat. Cindy tried to grab her, and Mona ran. Cindy tried again, and Mona ran again. Soon she was up the tree and out of Cindy's reach. Cindy didn't know what to do. Daddy was at work. He always took care of stuff like this, but he'd be upset that Cindy broke a promise to Mommy. If she asked a neighbor, they might tell her parents.

Cindy extended her arms. "Come here, Mona. Jump. I'll catch you."

Meow.

Cindy looked around. There were the chairs and the table near the back porch barbecue. She dragged a chair to the tree. The chair jumped and bounced and took little pieces out of the grass. She placed the chair against the tree. She climbed on the chair and reached up with her other hand to grab the closest branch.

"Don't do that. You'll kill yourself."

Cindy turned around and saw the woman. She wore blue jeans and a green shirt with a picture of a cat on it. She would help. She must like cats with a shirt like that. "Please help," she said through tears. "Mona's stuck."

"Well, don't climb that tree. You'll fall and break your neck. Believe me."

"She won't come down. Please help."

"Of course, I'll help. That's what I do." The Nice Lady smiled so big that Cindy could see all her teeth, and her eyes had a bright shine to them. "I'm a superhero."

***

"I just thought I'd tell you in person." The District Attorney entered with a folder in hand and took a seat at his desk. "We're reducing the charges down to assault, with no time."

"Are you joking?" Jane said. "He came at me with a knife. There were witnesses."

"I'm sorry. A plea bargain is best for all parties. We can't guarantee a win, and a trial will do more harm than good. There are too many inconsistencies with your story."

"Like what?"

"Like why you were there."

"I already told the detective..."

"And I read the report. No one's buying it. His lawyer came by to give me a preview of his defense. The first question he'll ask is why you chose that place."

"Because it's an area with a lot of homeless people."

"Yes, but why there?" The lawyer pulled a paper from a folder. "The district your department patrolled is divided into grid segments, correct?" With Jane's nod of agreement, the district attorney pointed to the printout of a map. "Where is your neighborhood?"

"E3."

"And in what area did you patrol?"

"D6."

"And where was it that you went?"

Jane had to check the map. "G4."

"So the question is, why there? If you wanted to help the people in the community, why not the people in your own neighborhood, or else where you worked? Either area would make sense; the place you went does not. And why at two o'clock in the morning? Did you wake up in the middle of the night and decide to do charity work. Any other person with five hundred dollars in that area is buying drugs."

"As you said, I don't know the area well. I knew of the camps, but not much else. I know plenty of places where I could find drugs in my patrol area."

"Exactly. You know the area, and those in the area know you. Their argument is that you went somewhere you wouldn't be recognized."

"I don't have a drug problem. I couldn't have been an officer with random screenings."

"But you're no longer an officer, and drugs don't always refer to the illegal kind. What about prescription?" Jane sighed and the DA threw up a hand. "My point."

"It was recommended by the psychiatrist I was assigned."

"Psychiatric care. Which lends weight to his accusation that you were the aggressor."

"How is that seen as even halfway feasible?"

"He claims that he recognized you from the news. I'm sure that it's just from his lawyer, but he claims that he saw in the papers that you were in a gunfight and had killed a child."

"My client did nothing wrong." Jane's lawyer leaned forward. "A man was aiming a gun at her, Officer Berden returned fire, and a bullet ricocheted off the collarbone and hit an innocent bystander."

"A ten-year-old, and the city burned for it."

"Because people believed witnesses over facts. The initial report cleared her, and the subsequent one confirmed the first. The riots were initiated because of rumors of corruption in the crime lab. The city burned because the district attorney's office didn't charge Ms. Berden when the evidence didn't implicate her. Did you make a mistake?"

"It's irrelevant. His lawyer is going to make the case that his client recognized you and that he was in fear for his life. They will probably be able to find several people for the jury who could consider his defense valid, with one or two actually believing it. The assertion they plan to try to make is that you got a thrill from being in a dangerous situation, and that you were out looking for more ways to recreate that initial adrenaline rush. I'm telling you, we don't want this going to trial. You don't want the attention."

"The man tried to kill me," Jane said.

"And that's wrong, but trial might actually turn out worse for you. My advice: You have the money, move out of the state. Start over. Forget this city and begin anew. It might be for the best. I don't know what else to tell you," and the lawyer closed the file.

***

An adult was here. Things would be better. She would get Mona out before Mommy got back and Mommy would never know. "Can you climb up there, please?" Cindy begged.

"Are you crazy? You want me to break my neck. I'm not some sort of climber person."

"Well, how are we going to get her down?"

The Nice Lady stared at Mona, then the ground. "Are there any rocks around? I can knock her off the branch and you can catch her."

"You can't do that."

"Sure I can. I have great aim."

"You can't. You'll hurt her."

"Oh. Well, what if we set the tree on fire?" the Nice Lady said. "We burn this side, not the side she's on, that would be crazy, and she'll jump down."

"You can't do that." Cindy imagined her mom coming home and seeing the tree burnt up, and fire trucks everywhere. The Nice Lady might want to help, but Cindy was staring to think the Nice Lady was crazy or not that smart. Adults were supposed to fix problems, not made them worse.

"Well, why not? Cats hate fire, almost as much as they hate... oh," and the Stupid Lady said a bad word. "I got it," and she walked away.

Cindy was upset now. Her mom was going to be home any moment and the Stupid Lady was no help and took up time. Cindy hurried back on the chair and started to pull herself up on the first branch.

A hand yanked her away and on to the ground. "What did I say? God says no. Are you trying to kill yourself? I have this," and the Stupid Lady pointed their garden hose to the trees. The top of the garden hose was like a water gun and the Stupid Lady squeezed and started spraying into the tree.

The stream of water hit Mona in the face as she freaked out and started to run up the tree. The Horrible Lady squirted above Mona and kept stopping her from going higher. Cindy punched and pulled on the Horrible Lady, crying for her to stop. The Horrible Lady kept squirting until Mona jumped out of the tree and ran. Cindy lost track of which way she went.

"Where is Mona?" she cried.

The Horrible Lady looked around and shrugged. "She's long gone."

"You're a horrible lady," she yelled at the Horrible Lady. "A horrible lady. You were supposed to save her."

"No. I was here to save you. I'm not driving twenty miles to save some cat."

"You're a horrible lady. You couldn't be any more horrible."

"Really?" she said, and she leaned over to bring her face close to Cindy's. "Really?"

The Horrible Lady blasted Cindy in the face.

Water went up Cindy's nose and in her mouth, and she fell coughing and crying. "Save your life and that's the thanks I get?" the Horrible Lady said. "By the way, you're welcome." She tossed the hose down and stomped to the front yard.

Cindy started to cry hard. Mona was gone. She would never come back. Cindy looked around but Mona was nowhere. Cindy started crying more when she heard the Horrible Lady shouting at someone. "Don't look at me that way. It's your fault you were in that tree in the first place."

Cindy ran to the front yard. The Horrible Lady was heading to her car. Cindy looked around and saw Mona huddled in the bushes in front of their house. Cindy crept closer. Mona was wet and shivering and there was dirt and leaves all over her white fur. "Mona, please stay."

Mona didn't stay. Mona ran. Mona ran across the lawn, and into the driveway just as Mommy pulled up. Mona went under the car and Cindy screamed. Mommy hit the brakes. For a moment, Cindy thought Mona was killed, but Mona flew out and ran to hide under the neighbor's car. As long as Cindy could see her, Cindy didn't want to get closer and scare her off. Mommy got out of the car. "What's going on?" Mommy yelled.

Cindy pointed at the Horrible Lady. "She let Mona out and chased her with the hose and squirted me and now Mona's out," and Cindy pointed to where Mona was hiding. It was a bit of a lie, but the Horrible Lady deserved to get in way more trouble than Cindy did.

Cindy expected the Horrible Lady to leave or say Cindy was lying. Instead, she looked at Cindy and smiled, as if she was happy that Cindy had lied about her, before she screamed at Cindy's mom. "Animals aren't pets. They're people. We're going to free all of them from their house-shaped prisons. The revolution starts here."

The Horrible Lady got in her car and drove off, still screaming bad words through an open window. Mommy ran to Cindy. "Are you okay? Did that crazy woman hurt you?" Cindy shook her head. "I'm sorry. I never should have left you alone." She hugged Cindy and Cindy pointed to Mona under the car. "Bring the groceries in, put the cold stuff away. I'll get Mona. Afterwards, we'll go out for ice cream."

Cindy lugged heavy bags in while her mother crawled on her belly in the neighbor's driveway. Cindy had had a bad day, but a realization snuck up on her. Cindy had always tried to be good, but today, she broke the rules, fibbed to her Mommy, and now she was being treated to an ice cream day. Maybe being bad every once in a while wasn't that bad at all.

***

Later that evening, Jane returned to the floral shop. She felt a mix of embarrassment and shame as she walked to the electrical room door, expecting her entry to be barred. Instead, a buzzer allowed her access, and no barking announced her approach. The first sound she heard on opening the door was Deanna's loud chattering.

"...And then I saved some scared fireboys, stopped a fat boy from getting a face full of bullets, prevented a little girl from being paralyzed, rescued a kitty from a tree, a very ungrateful kitty, mind you..."

Deanna was sitting on the edge of Graham's desk, swinging her legs in opposite directions, kicking his chair or arm every once and again. She turned, as if surprised to see Jane there, though she was perched near the surveillance monitors. Deanna lightly backhanded him.

"I did plenty more, but I wasn't alone." She swept a hand in Jane's direction. "Our friend here saved the life of a homicidal homeless hobo. Good job," she said with a series of claps before turning back towards Graham and engaging in some other inane conversation.

Sheshai headed Jane's way, and Jane crossed to cover some of the distance between them. "He's in the garage, when you're ready to talk to him." Her expression was serene, but blank, and Jane couldn't decipher if there were any hints of disappointment, displeasure, or disgust, so she nodded and headed to the back.

Through the open garage door, Jane found Ernesto slumped on one of the stationary recumbent bicycles, hands interlaced across his belly, snoring softly. She tapped light on the door frame, and he snorted and sputtered awake. "I'm up," and he wiped at the corners of his mouth and eyes to ensure that he was somewhat presentable, his feet trying to push pedals. He sat up, smiled, straightened his rumpled dress shirt, and pointed to the weight bench nearby. "Come in. Sit, sit. I'm done exercising for the day."

Jane moved to take a seat, noticing in passing that the bike's digital readout displayed 0.6 miles. She lowered herself to the bench and took a deep breath. "So, how much trouble am I in? Am I out?"

"No, no." He waved off the idea as he pulled from his pocket a handkerchief to dab away any imagined sweat. "Not at all."

"You said no police involvement."

"Sure, but one time isn't anything. Monty was stopped by the police one of his first times; filled out paperwork and everything. Once is an anomaly. Civilians stop crimes all the time. If this were to happen again and again, making the news, ending up in numerous police reports, that would be different. What's important is that you didn't mention us or what we do."

"No, of course not. I said I wouldn't. But to be perfectly fair, this could have been avoided. You knew this was going to happen, didn't you? How else could Sheshai have arrived so quickly?"

"No, I didn't. I mean, yeah, I did, but it wasn't supposed to happen now, and I didn't know until after you left." She glared at him, and he held up his hands. "We didn't have this conversation until weeks from now. When I stepped in the last time you were here, it changed things, moved stuff slightly out of position. We collected more names, and you must have made another one of those the priority. After you left, I ran my checks based on the new timeline, but it wasn't until an hour later, and you were already on the road, so Sheshai set out to take care of as many names as possible."

"So how'd she do it? Take care of things?"

"Like she does all things," he said with a smile. "Quietly. So if it wasn't for that, then it would have been after Louisville that you give me the speech."

"What speech?"

"The one that you were going to give me. I've heard it a bunch of times. Each time it was a little different, but the substance is the same. I like hearing it."

"There's no..." Jane had no set speech in mind, just some thoughts that were coalescing without a definitive form. "I understand that, right now, there may not be the means to save everyone, and maybe we have to pick or chose, but to me, it doesn't seem right that we designate ourselves sole arbiters of life and death. I understand that the idea of saving a child or someone who may be able to save more lives in the future, that feels right, and maybe it is, but to pick based solely on their perceived contributions to society, no. That moral relativism doesn't sit well with me. The argument between a convict and a child? Who's to say the criminal isn't about to turn his life around, or that the kid doesn't grow up to be some little bastard?

"It should be about the numbers. Save as many as we can, regardless of who they are or what they are or what we think they will be later. Save lives, not just important ones, and the idea of letting others pass because we're afraid of exposure, that feels wrong as well. Maybe find outside contractors, private eyes, or some other way, but knowing that there's actually something we could do, and that we don't because of a fear of repercussions, well, I don't know how you can see those names missed in the papers the next day." Jane shrugged. "I don't know. Was that what you were talking about?"

"Pretty much. The other times, you started by apologizing for taping Monty and Deanna in the restaurant, and once, you raised your voice at me, but pretty much the same," he said. "And yes, it's hard to see those same names once again in the papers, but I've also seen what happens without our discretion. It's over, and what we do is done. No more helping people. That's numbers, too."

There was a break in their talking that stretched towards an uncomfortable silence, so Jane interrupted it with, "So, is that it?"

"Yes, and thank you again." She shook his offer of a handshake. "I want to say, I hope this is the start of something good, but I already know the answer to that."

Jane left the garage to return to the main room to find Deanna and Sheshai gone, so she headed to Graham, who was pulling a beer from the refrigerator. "So, what's for tonight?" she asked.

"For you, nothing. You're good." He smiled and offered her the bottle. "Want one?"

"No. I don't understand. I thought I would still be going out."

"Hmm?" he grunted behind a swig from the bottle. "Oh, yeah, sure, but not every night. Half the nights are just anonymous tips to the authorities, or one person hitting a few spots. On average, twice a week, two people go out, and about once a month, three. I don't have the numbers in my head, but I got a spreadsheet of the stats, if you want to see."

"No, thanks. I would like to know the story about the cards, though, if you don't mind."

Graham laughed again and looked at the surveillance monitors. Though they were alone, he whispered, "I don't care what Shai says, it's a great story." He hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter. "Let me tell it before she's back from shopping."

"Please," and Jane sat at the kitchen table.

"Okay, so if you know Monty, you can tell he's a pretty chill guy, so when I say he was enraged recounting a story from months earlier, just believe me; that man was mad. And him, trying to mimic Deanna's voice, was priceless.

"Deanna's first night, Monty and Ernest give her papers with names and details; neither of them is tech savvy, so names on paper. Monty tells Deanna that he could probably save eleven lives, but they only expected eight from her on her first try. She read the information, said, 'That's stupid,' ran off, and saved seventeen people. Seventeen.

"She cut time, giving her other opportunities to save others. My favorite was where two people were going to die around the same time in different parts of the city. One was a business owner who got to his store by six, and when other employees showed up at six-thirty, he was found murdered with his safe emptied. Deanna showed up twenty minutes to six, ran to his back door with a gas can, splashed gas on the door--"

"Oh, my God," Jane interrupted.

"Gets better. She tossed a lit match, ran to the front door, more splashing before tossing the can and another match at the door, runs to her car, and shoots out a tire on every vehicle on the street as she drives off." He laughed and held up a hand to ward off any protests from Jane. "Wait. Here's Deanna logic. If the bad guys were waiting outside for the owner, they weren't going to hang around a burning building to try to get to the safe."

"And if they were inside the building, lying in wait..."

"Which they were, which is why they received severe cuts and burns diving out a window, and they had trouble escaping since someone shot their tires out. Her defense: she spent ninety seconds there, moved on, saved a life, and two men went to jail. For arson, yeah, but they still deserved time. The building had been in the guy's family for seventy years, by the way, people lost their jobs, but she saved a life that would have been missed.

"She drives off, and the papers blow out the car window. When Monty asked later, 'Why were the windows down?', she said, 'I can't be shooting from the car with the window up. That would be crazy.' She had no names anymore, so she calls Ernie, screaming for instructions. Just try and imagine Ernie at his most flustered trying to guide Deanna at her most manic. 'Turn left.' "My left, or your left?' 'Your left.' 'How can you see my left? How are you watching me?' 'I can't see you.' 'Fuck! I missed the turn! If you're watching me, why didn't you warn me before I missed it?' All night. End of the night, though, when they find out how much she got done, Ernest starts raving, "Oh, Deanna, you're wonderful, you're amazing, you're invaluable..."

Jane covered her eyes with her palms. "Oh, no, no. He fed the monster. He fed the monster's ego."

Graham laughed again as he drained the bottle. "So, they decide to write the information on index cards, which are heavier. Deanna sees this, and it's, 'I want better cards, nicer cards, nicer fonts, different colors, better quality,' and so on, Monty had to go out and buy a professional printer, set it up, but, whatever. He's a team player, and he thinks Deanna's a nut, but she gets results, so he tolerates it. He kept his names on paper, though.

"So, one night, they're in the same town, and Deanna called him to say she had a window of free time and lets him know she's going off to eat. Monty has a name he can't get to, she was nearby, so he asked for help. 'Do you have a card for me?' she asked. 'I don't use cards,' he said. 'Then I don't help,' she said. 'I'll make one when we get back,' he said. 'I don't take no sloppy seconds,' she said, and she hung up, and the person died.

"I'd ask if you're kidding," Jane said, "but I'm not really surprised."

"Now, to be fair, the dead guy was a total piece of shit, and his particulars described him as such, but after Monty's rage subsided, he wondered aloud to me if she had known that beforehand, and maybe she didn't really have the time to help him."

"I wouldn't be shocked. She probably never lost those papers, either."

"Monty thinks the same, too. Point is, that's why, when she's working near you, just keep your cards close in case you need help."

"Seriously, how in God's name did they pick that woman in the first place?"

"I don't know," Graham said as he placed his bottle with the recyclables. "From the bits I've heard, they don't talk about it because they consider that to be the crazy story."

***

Jane returned to her apartment that evening and watched the news. The room felt more desolate without Silly. Jane thought it was best her mother keep Silly to provide comfort and companionship during her recuperation. From her window, Jane saw less police and press helicopters, and the neighborhood seemed more still. Rogue cats braved the streets again, and wild curs ventured more freely without their tails between their legs. For many in the community, it was the chance to reclaim some measure of peace and unfettered sleep.

Jane set a Strays Don't Sleep track to repeat while she viewed the muted TV. After a time, she went to her computer and opened the folder named IMPORTANT. There were two items inside. One was the note from the previous week, the other was the recording she made in the Stand. She studied their icons for a bit, then selected the audio recording and deleted it. It wasn't true evidence, and she didn't think she would still need it. She spent a few more moments examining the text document icon before closing the folder and turning her computer off.