Following the deeply uncomfortable demonic encounter, Jerry, Braxton, Rosa, and a few of the crime scene technicians, including the strange one with the inexplicable attraction towards Paddington, wandered around the rest of the workshop. They found nothing of note that wasn’t already addressed, observed, and cataloged by other related parties, so Jerry, Braxton, and Rosa went towards the office in the back of the workshop.

  They found Noura, Mallory, and Howard in the office, which was drenched in blood and other bodily materials from the floor to the ceiling. The other three rangers had finished examining the three bodies within, including the owner of the head in the main room of the workshop. They were all soaked in nervous sweat and looked queasy following their examination.

  Jerry nodded towards Mallory. “Anything interesting to report, dear?”

  “A lot of not so fun things,” Mallory said. “For starters, we learned that everybody in here except for the man without a head on the floor, died from gunshot wounds at close range. But that’s pretty obvious to even the untrained eye, so we asked Paddington to help us for a deeper dig.”

  “What did that big, creepy fucker tell y'all?” Jerry asked.

  “See that man slumped over the desk there? His name is, well, was Claude Carber. He was the owner of this workshop, but before that, he was a mineman in the Mendakian Union Navy. Following some time in the brig for beating one of his fellow sailors unconscious with a diving tank, he got dishonorably discharged but realized he still liked the taste of prison food. His civilian criminal record includes some armed robbery and burglary. Carber had no links to organized crime…that we were aware of, it seems.”

  “How the Vullen did a jailbird like Carber get the funds to start a carpentry workshop?” Jerry asked Mallory. “And why and how would he get caught up in something like this after running what looks like a harmless enough business?”

  “Carber’s father was once the owner of a local line of dry cleaning businesses and a large insurance policy in the six digits,” Mallory said. “Several years ago, Claude’s father died in a case of arson Claude was accused of committing, but there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him for the crime.”

  Jerry scoffed. “Heard that one before.”

  “As for the how and why Claude got himself caught up in this?” Mallory asked. “I’m uncertain for now, but one of the crime scene technicians told me the workshop was a place people released from prison could take classes to learn carpentry to reenter the workforce. My personal theory is that Carber got involved with Bradley at the wrong time, or he was carrying out his old ways in a way that eventually caught up with him.”

  Jerry took a few steps towards Carber’s corpse. He examined the inside and outside of his ventilated head. “And caught up with him indeed.” Jerry pointed at the large, dead man who was also in possession of a ventilated head on the floor. “Paddington or anybody else help you figure out what’s up with this big bloke?”

  “Yes,” Mallory said. “That would be Bernard Hampton, and he was a very nasty piece of work. Before he ended up here, he was a line cook at some greasy, no name restaurant called Vergan’s in North New Chemeketa. He decided to cook up a very devious plot by kidnapping his female neighbor and raping her one day. After he got out of prison, he flew well under the radar until now.”

  “I feel like I'm coming down with something nasty the longer I stay in this Vullen-damned place," Jerry said. “Was there anybody here tonight who got murdered here who wasn’t some sorta shifty, unscrupulous bastard?”

  “Appears not,” Mallory said. “I think another triffle might be on the way.”

  To civilians and others not in the know, the word “triffle” meant either childish nonsense or was a reference to some silly character from some silly cartoon show. But to seasoned Triple I Division special agents such as the Rangers, it was a fearsome portmanteau that referred to the “Triple I Division Shuffle,” where anything from murders, arson, assassinations, and elevated risks of supernatural attacks were not off the table following the start of a new investigation. It wasn’t uncommon for Triple I Division special agents to end up disabled or even dead whenever a triffle happened.

  “Don’t say that,” Jerry warned her. “Don’t even think about it. We are too close to having our last year with the Triple I Division, and the last thing any of us needs is one of those.”

  “Consider my head empty of the forbidden word,” Mallory said.

  “Good,” Jerry said.

  Howard said, “We also found some interesting things in Carber’s desk.”

  “Such as?” Jerry asked.

  “We found a lot of mysterious keys and dozens of notes,” Howard said. “The notes are written in what looks like some sort of code, but they should be easy enough for some Triple I Division cryptographers and I to crack given enough time.”

  “Now that’s some uplifting news,” Jerry chirped. “You use your power on the keys yet?”

  “I have some good news and bad news about that,” Howard said. “Which do you-“

  “Bad,” Jerry said. “Ending on bad news is like finishing your coffaux after a delicious slice of cake. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.”

  Howard nodded. “The bad news is that even though I was able to unlock Carber’s computer with his biometric data, his computer was fried.”

  “How so?” Jerry asked. “Some kind of built in security mechanism kicking in?”

  Howard gave Jerry a puzzled glance. ”Look at the computer on his desk. He fried the hardware with his blood and brains when he got shot to death.”

  “Oh, right.” Jerry felt shockingly stupid at that moment. Whenever he forced himself into Serious Detective Who did Serious Investigative Things mode, he sometimes overthinked about obvious answers that stared him in the face. It was a problem he had since his rambling youth. “What's the good news then?”

  Howard presented Jerry with ten keys that shone dully in the greasy light of the office. “These told me they know where Carber was keeping a lot of interesting things locked away in his home and elsewhere. However, the keys want something in exchange for this information.”

  “I am now willing and open to negotiate with inanimate objects.” Jerry folded his arms. “Not the strangest thing to happen in my forty or so years of life, but so it goes. Hit me with it, Crazy Kamikan.”

  “I buried the lede a little bit,” Howard sheepishly admitted. “I have some more bad news.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Jerry said. “Just great.”

  “You see, the keys I'm holding right now are aware that once they are used, they will be away from the warmth of human hands for years, if not decades. They want to experience some warmth before they go away in the same way a soldier wants one last night with his lover before a deployment.”

  Everybody save for Howard in the office shared confused and concerned glances with one another until Jerry broke the tense silence with loud, barking laughter.

  “Crazy Kamikan, are you really telling that the keys you’re holding right now want to up our—“

  “No, no, no, not like that!” Howard insisted while frantically waving his skinny arms about. “The keys just want to be in our mouths for ten minutes. No other mucosal orifices needed.”

  “Thank the Twelve for that,” Jerry said. “But our mouths? Really?”

  “There’s ten keys and we have seven mouths, eight if you include Mr. Moon. And I only have so much space in my mouth alone.”

  “Fuck it, no use arguing. Give me one of those little metallic bastards.” He took two of the keys from Howard and pulled his mask down to stick them in his mouth like lollipops that tasted like cold metal and bad ideas. “One more year and no more of this nonsense. I better not get some weird disease from this.”

  Howard moved his mask and placed one of the keys in his mouth as well. “The keys appreciate this a lot.”

  “If you say so,” Jerry said.

  Howard distributed the keys to everybody else in the office. When he went to exit the office, he caught sight of Mr. Moon and Anthony. The two disparate men gave Howard and the rest of the Rangers stares of similar disbelief.

  “What kind of Vullenish nonsense is going on here?” Anthony asked.

  “That is a good question,” Mr. Moon added.

  “Work, allegedly.” Jerry nodded towards Howard. “Crazy Kamikan can explain better”

  He did to Mr. Moon and Anthony. They seemed hesitant with the bizarre scheme at first, but joined everybody else in putting a key in their mouths. Everybody in or by the office left it to convene in the workshop's large break room. Here, they made ample use of the breakroom's coffaux maker while discussing dozens of theories for what had happened tonight. An hour or so later,they came to a conclusion everybody was comfortable with.

  After Bradley initially evaded his arrest, he managed to hijack a car to get him to Carber’s Carpentry Workshop. This part of the theory was confirmed by an anonymous call from a terrified, rambling woman who said Bradley took her and her two children hostage for a ride. Unfortunately, the theory got fuzzier and more conjecture based after this point. The Rangers and Mr. Moon suspected that something bad had happened in the office, but beyond one birdeye bot outside of the workshop, nothing gave them insight to what had happened within it.

  Jerry and Rosa, in a rare moment of agreement, put forth the sub-theory that there was a mysterious third party that left Bradley alive until he got killed by Exorcist Division operators; meanwhile Anthony and Mr. Moon suggested Bradley was attempting to negotiate an escape plan with Claude Carber that went south. After all, with the desperate state Bradley had been in before his demise, he had possessed no real, logical reason to go to a “normal” carpentry workshop of all places.

  All in all, the Rangers and Mr. Moon hoped they could find the anonymous female caller or other partygoers that had seen something. Calls were easy to trace, and the workshop must've had a long list of students willing to say something interesting despite their near exclusively ex-convict status.

  The Rangers and Mr. Moon were so deep in their discussion, they overlooked the fact that they had left the keys in their mouths far longer than ten minutes. Howard collected the keys and spoke to them with his strange powers. He typed up several addresses and details he wanted everybody else to be aware of with his catcaller, then texted it around.

  “Damn fine work, Crazy Kamikan,” said Jerry to Howard. “Where would anybody here be without you?”

  “Dead or in prison,” he said without much humor. “Including myself, of course.”

  Mallory laughed. “He’s not wrong, I guess.”

  “Can’t argue with that observation,” Jerry said. He felt his stomach rumbling. “Now that it seems like we’re done with this little atrocity exhibition, how about we all get some eats? Brax and I learned about this fantastic late night place on Crenshaw and 44th called the Harvoret Diner with a lot of decent vegan options.” Jerry grinned at Mr. Moon. “You can come too, buddy. I know the rules about fraternization with superiors and all that Triple I Division noise, but I heard their tuna fish sandwiches are so delectable, they’re worth getting in a little trouble over.”

  “You said it yourself,” Mr. Moon said. “Me eating with the Rangers outside of work would be classified as fraternization.”

  “Come on now,” Jerry insisted. “Don’t be like that even if the rules say elsewise. Ain’t we friends or something a little like that?”

  “No, not really, I’m afraid,” Mr. Moon said bluntly. “Save for you and Mr. Olumana, who are going to take administrative leave for the shooting you two were involved in tonight, I’ll see everybody else at the field office, 0900 sharp as usual. Once we are there, we will discuss what comes next. But for now, I’m going to need your service pistols for the pending investigation, Mr. Olumana and Mr. Genovesi.”

  Jerry and Braxton turned over their handguns to Mr. Moon.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Moon said. “Goodnight and better blessings from the Twelve. This was a satisfactory night of work.”

  Everyone watched as Mr. Moon walked out of the breakroom. Jerry scoffed once he was out of earshot—a large distance considering Mr. Moon’s racial abilities.

  “I'm at peace knowing I rub most humans the wrong way, but I won’t lie here, team. My feelings are a little hurt knowing that has spread to Hissians as well,” Jerry said. “Seriously, what the Vullen was that? Invite the fellow for some good times that breaks the rules a little, and he acts like you just invited him to eat a barrel full of dead babies. We’ve all known him for four years running, yet he still treats us like fucking felons on parole…which is technically true, but still!”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Anthony said. “Rules are usually rules for a reason, and Mr. Moon has one of those brains where guidelines, regulations, and duty replace where he’s supposed to keep his love and appreciation of others. Trust me when I tell you that. I spend the most time with him out of all of you.”

  “Also,” Noura added, “Mr. Moon is simply…Mr. Moon! In his own special Mr. Moon way.”

  “By that,” Rosa said, “she means Mr. Moon is an off-putting asshole who secretly hates us, but openly hates Jerry.”

  “Exactly,” he shouted.

  “I would never say something like that,” Noura said.

  “No grand revelation there,” Jerry said. “I love you, darling, but I sometimes feel like you have the energy of somebody who would have their kidney stolen by a sketchy, back alley surgeon, then ask if they want the other one.”

  “Treat her the way you want to be treated,” Braxton growled at Jerry.

  “Fine, fine,” he said. “But anyway, I’m still starving and I bet everybody else here is starving as well. Let’s get some food before I start considering taking a bite of Birdshit’s body.”

  By the time the Rangers arrived in the late night diner, the freezing rain and howling wind had finally let up.

  They walked over to a large table that could fit all of them and seated themselves. An Affrodian waiter with tired eyes and cornrows came by moments later, armed with a fresh pot of coffaux and two pitchers of cold water. He asked the Rangers what they wanted to eat. Once the orders for food were given, he went to the kitchen to inform the two line cooks of the establishment what needed to be cooked.

  “Can any of y’all really believe it?” Jerry asked the other Rangers. “One more year of this horrible bullshit and we are no longer the whipped, running dogs of the Mendakian Union.”

  “I can hardly believe it,” Braxton said. “I’ve been dreaming for decades of being able to finally control my life.”

  “Don’t need to tell us that twice,” Noura said. “Freedom is one of those things you fail to appreciate until it’s taken away from you.”

  “Noura as always coming in with the uplifting truth,” Jerry said. “Now remind me again, what is everybody here planning to do once the next year is over? I don’t think I need to remind everybody what Anthony, Brax, and I are planning on getting into.”

  “I actually forgot,” Howard said. “Not out of malice or indifference, mind you. Sometimes my medications make my mind like a sieve made of old straw.”

  “As expected from our resident Crazy Kamikan,” Jerry said. “Listen up because I’m not repeating myself yet again. Anthony, Brax, and I are planning to start an apple orchard then use the revenue from that to fund an animal sanctuary up north in Warsharkton. Apparently the climate up there is perfect for that kind of stuff.”

  “Oh, now I remember,” Howard said. “I also remember being the witness to that big, blowout fight you three had over what to call it, too.”

  “Please don’t bring that up,” Anthony said. “Just thinking about that argument makes my blood pressure spike again.”

  “Even though we all secretly agree the Jraxthony Orchards is the best name, I guess we’ll have to workshop it some more.” Jerry took a sip from his glass of cold water while Braxton and Anthony glared at him. The stares of annoyance and water were equally refreshing experiences. Jerry pointed his pinky at Howard. “What about you, Crazy Kamikan?”

  “An artisan clock making business with my lovely wife, Mallory, as my business partner. Even though lots of people have no need for them with stuff like digital or holo clocks, I believe it’s an important craft somebody has to keep alive, and who better to do that than Mallory and I?”

  “I’ve told him many times it’s an absurd idea that will ultimately waste our time, money, and energy,” Mallory said, “but I would be a liar if I said Howard’s absurd ideas didn’t make him so attractive to me.”

  “Thank you, Mallory, you lovely little creature you.” Howard turned to Noura. “And what about you, the other lovely little creature of Rustio’s Rangers?”

  Noura smiled one of her white, prize-winning smiles. “I want to start a beauty salon, of course! Just imagine me with a little army of beauticians, plucking, scrubbing, and washing away filth to create a beautiful new world.”

  “I don’t need to imagine that,” Rosa said. “Your talent has saved me a lot of money on these braids of mine. I know that with a good infusion of money and a lot of hard work, you could do a lot of good things with your hands.”

  “What are you planning to do once our final year is up?” Jerry asked her. Under his breath, he added, “This is gonna be good.”

  Braxton groaned, but said nothing. He frowned like he knew what was about to happen.

  “I want to establish a monastery for our Sweet Lady of Death near Smooth Wallace in Arrowzonac,” Rosa said. “Her will shall be done.”

  Jerry rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Okay.”

  “I heard that,” Rosa said to him. “Something else to add to that ‘okay,’ Jerry?”

  “I said something?” he asked. “I didn’t say anything at all. I just have a little scratchy thing going on with my throat. A lot of good people, like Noura for example, say I should lay off the unfiltered cigarettes.”

  “It’s a casual setting, Jerry, and you’re the last person who thinks they need to ask for permission to speak in most settings, so speak freely.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Even though I think your…religion is a bit unorthodox when compared to more normal and established religions like the Twelvism sects, one of the Budayeen paths Mallory and Howard follow, or Mohdianism, is that what you really want to do with the rest of your life? Move to that oversized sandbox masquerading as a state called Arrowzonac to start some doomsday wacko cult compound full of other doomsday wackos?”

  “Jerry,” Braxton growled in warning.

  “If you disagree with what I plan to do with the rest of my life, I give you full permission to try and take it when you please,” Rosa said. “I fear death very little, and I fear you even less.”

  “The Twelve help me.” Braxton rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut in pure, all-consuming irritation. “You two need to stop with the bickering right now. You’re ruining the atmosphere and killing everybody’s twelvedamned appetites.”

  Jerry clapped his hands together and raised them in mock surrender. “Just saying my piece.”

  Rosa sarcastically mirrored Jerry’s actions. “Just saying my piece as well.”

  “Good.” Braxton glanced behind himself. He noticed the waiter skillfully carrying all of the hot, sizzling dishes towards the Rangers with his arms and hands. He glared at Jerry then Rosa. “Now get to stuffing your mouths before either of you argumentative assholes get the terrible idea of trying to get the last word in.”

  The moment the dishes touched the Ranger’s occupied table, they all thanked the waiter then wasted no time digging into their respective meals. Jerry, Howard, and Mallory attacked large stacks of fluffy, vegan, cinnamon-enhanced pancakes, and heavily spiced tofu scrambles while everybody else had worked on much less vegan pancakes and mounds upon mounds of greasy meat that included maple syrup sweetened sausages, thick slices of bacon, and enough scrambled eggs that looked like they could’ve hatched dozens of chickens. Braxton’s earlier command was followed flawlessly. The Rangers, especially Jerry and Rosa, said not a single word to another soul at the table as they ate in peace.

  Forty or so minutes later, the waiter returned to get the dirty dishes and refill the Ranger’s drinks. Everybody was comfortably quiet in the afterglow of a good meal with friends until Braxton tapped Jerry’s shoulder.

  “How may I help you this fine evening, big man?”

  “Do you remember when I said I wanted to talk to you about something serious earlier?”

  “Yessir,” Jerry said. “I understand that and all, but I think we should—”

  “No. This conversation is happening right here, right now. And now that I’m certain Mr. Moon’s prying eyes and ears are far away from us,” Braxton said, “I want to address some concerning things I saw you do with that weirdo that was running with Bradley Birdshit.”

  Anthony groaned before glaring at Jerry. “What did you do now?”

  “I lost my patience with a suspect and grabbed him a few after he insulted Braxton and wouldn’t shut up,” Jerry admitted. “I then threatened to feed him his own teeth if he continued acting up. I didn’t tell Mr. Moon anything about this for very obvious reasons.”

  “That wasn’t very nice of you,” Noura said.

  “Classic Genovesian charm,” Rosa added.

  “Please tell me this is some kind of practical joke you somehow talked Braxton into pulling on me,” Anthony said. “Because if it is, I don’t think it’s very funny! We are all one year away from finishing our contracts with the Mendakian Union, and you’re running here acting like that? What if he talks to Mr. Moon?”

  “In my defense, that man was a twelvedamned menace,” Jerry said. “He was belligerent, intoxicated, sexually harassed Braxton, and he became very cooperative when I introduced my hand to his chin.”

  “I don’t know about that one,” Howard said. “Just about everybody becomes cooperative when you restrain and grab them.”

  “This does not involve you, Crazy Kamikan,” Jerry said to him.

  “Actually it does,” Anthony said. “Because your actions involve all of us. Do you remember four years ago, when we were all forced into barely ethical contracts, what one of the most important clauses was?”

  “Yes,” Jerry said.

  “Yes what?” Anthony pressed. “Tell me. I know you remember.”

  “In the event any of us commits a crime, abuses our power, attempts to flee, or fails to follow orders before the five year contract is finished, we will all be punished with imprisonment or a five year extension of the contract.”

  “If you know that, then why are you running around, grabbing suspects, and threatening to feed them their own teeth?” Anthony asked. “You called Howard ‘Crazy Kamikan,’ but just look at how you act when people piss you off!”

  Jerry shrugged. “Even though my actions were wrong and dumb as all Vullen, they felt like the proper response to the situation I was involved in.”

  “Vullen suck the soul from my flesh,” Anthony said. “Listen to me very well when I tell you this, Jerry. If you make anybody here give another five years of our precious lives to these Mendakian Union pieces of shit, we’ll all agree to get you and make it look like an accident. After all, they taught us how to do that. Am I understood?”

  “Very much so,” Jerry said, noting that the intense look in Anthony’s eyes looked dead serious.

  “I feel queasy,” Howard complained without warning. “All this talk of grabbing people and murder plots has upset my stomach.”

  Mallory rubbed his shoulder. “You’ve eaten worse food during even worse moments of your life, dear. You just feel sick because you eat too quickly and only have one meal every day.”

  “That is only somewhat true,” Howard said. “But sometimes my medications kill all the appetite I have.”

  “Maybe we should figure out how to get you on a better medication,” Mallory said. “One that makes you hungry enough to put a few kilograms on that lovely, but lanky frame of yours.”

  “But what if I gain too much weight?” Howard said.

  “Then there will be more of you for me to love.”

  “I love you so much, Mallory.”

  “I love you so much more, Howard.”

  “Anthony,” Rosa said. “Could I swap places with Jerry’s place in his potential murder plot so that I can avoid all this eye watering romance?”

  Anthony smirked at Rosa. “Request denied.”

  “Anyway,” Braxton said with a raised voice, “there’s one last thing I need to ask you Jerry.”

  “Have at it.”

  “I noticed that you almost called the suspect you grabbed a ‘Native Almandican piece of shit,’” Braxton said. “I thought you had that kind of racist thinking handled, man? What is wrong with you?”

  Jerry found himself more offended at being called a racist than nearly being one hours ago. “Braxton, how could you say something so foul and downright awful to me? You’ve known me for decades, man. I’m not like that anymore despite what we both went through.”

  “Then why did you almost insult that man like that?” Braxton asked. “I have a high tolerance for a lot of the whacky, off-kilter, and often offensive things you say and do, but that is where I draw the hard line.”

  “I don’t hate one neo-race or neo-ethnicity more than the other,” Jerry insisted. He grinned at Braxton. “You should know I hate everybody equally. My dislike for people regardless of their immutable characteristics entitles me to some level of nobility when compared to true, knuckledragging bigots.”

  “He’s trying to quip himself out of yet another hard question,” Rosa said. “This should be entertaining to watch.”

  “You better not get involved with this if you know what’s good for you, Rosie,” said Jerry. “I’m warning you, woman.”

  “Or what?” Rosa asked. She gave Jerry one of her stiff, unnerving smiles. “Will you grab my face and call me a Native Zapotekan piece of shit?”

  “Forget it,” Jerry hissed at her. “I’m surprised I can keep anything down with somebody like you at the table.”

  Rosa gasped with mock surprise then smirked. “What do you mean somebody like me?”

  “Don’t twist my words around like a pretzel, you grating-”

  “Shut up,” Braxton roared. “Will the two of you just shut up, please!”

  “Sorry,” Rosa and Jerry said at the same time while glaring at one another.

  “I’m being serious here,” Braxton said to Jerry. In a quieter voice, he said, “That’s not the kind of man I want to spend the rest of my life with. It’s one of the most unbecoming things you can be in my eyes.”

  Shame filled Jerry’s chest, deflating him. “I’ll eventually get on top of how I can act without thinking, but if you think my alleged racism is bad, you should’ve seen how my father talked when he got a couple of fingers of whiskey in his belly or some fishscale up his nose. The things he said would’ve made a Grey Man tell him to calm down.”

  “Be a serious man who doesn’t need to rely on whataboutism for five minutes of your life,” Noura suddenly said with such an uncharacteristic fierceness, all eyes were instantly on her. Even one of the line cooks was looking at her. “Just because somebody you hated once said more awful, racist things than you, that doesn’t negate the awful, racist things you have or might not have said.”

  The shame in Jerry’s chest metastasized, infecting every part of his being. “I…I know, Noura.”

  “And stop taking advantage of Braxton’s goodwill just because he loves you,” Noura continued ranting. “He’s not going to be around forever to keep the worst parts of you in check. What will you do then?”

  “I…I-”

  “Stuttering isn’t an answer, Jerry. I want real answers right now,” Noura demanded. “You’ll eventually meet some people or some situation that Braxton won’t be able to pull you out of. Then what? Or even worse, you’ll meet people who aren’t like the Rangers or I who won’t confront you with the truth in such a productive way. Then what?”

  Jerry failed to find a good answer because there was none.

  “And while we’re at it,” Noura said, “you were right about those cigarettes. You need to stop smoking those disgusting things! You go through at least two packs a day, and all for what? They’re ruining your teeth, the health of everybody around you that isn’t Touched, and makes you smell like you made love to a campfire.”

  The shame in Jerry’s chest was replaced with confusion. “Noura…are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay,” she shouted. “Even if those people that died earlier weren’t good people, I can’t get the images of what they looked like out of my head. How can somebody look at another human being and do that to them?”

  Anthony shrugged. “If we knew that, we could stop them before they did the things they did, I suppose.”

  “So all we can do is react then?”

  “Generally, yes,” Anthony said.

  Noura sniffled and covered her eyes to hide her incoming tears. “I’m so tired, Anthony.”

  “We all are, Noura,” he said softly. “We all are…”

  Once she finished her crying spell, she asked the rest of the Rangers to join her outside.

  “Why?” Anthony asked.

  “This place feels so suffocating.”

  After laying down their money and tips on the table for the waiter, they honored Noura’s small request. Jerry decided to delay his usual postmeal cigarette to avoid upsetting Noura again. Instead, he silently enjoyed the cold, fresh air sharpening his calorie-dulled wits while the nocturnal soundscape of New Chemeketa at rest whispered promises of another day into his ears.

  “One more year,” Anthony said.

  “One more year,” Jerry said.

  “One more year,” Braxton said.

  “One more year,” Rosa said.

  “One more year,” Mallory said.

  “One more year,” Howard said.

  “One more year,” Noura said.