I sat still inside the idling Bronco, my mind twisting and turning about the call that had come in and the mission Gularte and I had just finished, except we hadn’t finished it. The call was beyond strange, as Chiefs of Staff for presidents of the country were about as likely to make an appointment with someone as low as I was on the totem pole as with the man in the moon, and, without thinking about it, I’d returned the Marauder to the police lot without washing and waxing it.

“Back,” I said, “we’ve got to go back, get Gates’ car and take it to the headquarters for washing and waxing, and also collect the special wax from my car, and we’ve got to do it fast because his shift will be ending and he’s going to be looking for his Marauder.”

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