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my reaction in silence.
    “Nothing, huh?”
    Nothing.
    “Don’t fool yourself,” he continues. I’m paralyzed and have to listen. “He knows every major artery, nerve cluster and pressure point on the human body. He can gut, cut and pack a grown man into a garbage bag in under forty minutes. He’s still just a child in most ways, always will be. But he’s got a knack for the job most pros will never come close to. Ever. He’s a legend, in some circles. You’re the best, aren’tya, Toe Tag?” he says to the rearview mirror.
    “Love you.”
    “I love you too, son. Here we are.”
    He pulls into a shopping complex, the same bleached sand noncolor of the surrounding developments, and parks in a blue zone. The dirty, idiot boy from Ford’s opens my door. Toe Tag. He unbuckles my seat belt, grips the crotch of my arm and hoists me to my feet. I’m a doll full of feathers in his grip.
    The evening shadows bleed like fresh ink until they’ve covered the ground. The desert air soaks them up, staining the sky deep blue, the color of morning glory petals. The sweeping hands of the enormous, outdoor clock make me dizzy. I stare at my feet and let Toe Tag guide me. My legs are still numb and I can’t risk slipping on a wet shadow.
    My escorts leave me at an outdoor food court opposite a movie theater. I hear the hornet’s hum of current running through neon. When they return, the boy plows into a waffle cone, smearing ice cream across his face, oblivious to the world.
    “My name is White,” the man says. “They call me Manhattan, but I’m from Rochester. I’ll repeat myself. The question is, can you do it again?” He strokes his son’s hair once, twice, then folds his hands in front of him, never taking his eyes from me.
    “You’re really going to make me go through this from the beginning, aren’t you?”
    I still can’t talk. Neither shaking my head nor nodding seems like a good idea.
    Toe Tag says, “Share,” then offers a spoonful of ice cream to his father. Manhattan White lets the boy spoon-feed him a bite, then continues.
    “You and I work for the same organization. Rather, we used to, as you’ve taken an unscheduled leave of absence. Among our interests is a chain of pharmaceutical manufacturing and supply, wherein youreported to me as part of Research and Development. Head of Research and Development, I should add. I reported, and continue to report, directly to Mr. Hoyle.”
    Toe Tag immerses a plastic army man into his ice cream. Hip-deep in vanilla, the soldier with the seam down the center of his face rears back to lob a grenade into mine.
    “That placed you very high up in the chain, you understand,” says White. “You’ve made a great deal of money for us, and yourself, and we’ve been quite pleased with you, until this recent debacle.”
    “And to whom does Hoyle report?” A rope of drool spills onto my numb and tingling hands. I wipe my chin with unfeeling fingers.
    “This is going to take longer than I thought,” says White. “Hoyle reports to no one. He’s the first and last link in the chain and everything in it belongs to him. He’s the last word in this organization, his organization, and you’ve managed to land on his blacklist. Most people would have been given a pink slip in your situation, but you’ve got yourself one hell of a parachute, so we’re prepared to negotiate.”
    “You’ve got my undivided attention.” My words are mashed together like warm clay.
    “Sarcasm. Sounds as though the old Eric is coming around,” he says and smiles. “There’s that fire you started. That is not an accusation, so we’re clear. Neither I nor Hoyle believe you did that on purpose. Your precautionary measures were exemplary for the entire chain and your compensation was ample, to say the very least. Nobody doubts it was an accident but, the fact remains, the lab was your responsibility and the fire happened on your watch.”
    “Hoyle ought to be insured.”
    “He is and