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noticed on the news, on the Tube, all these stories about Reaganomics, a-an’ cutbacks in the federal budget and stuff?”
    â€œShe was on some program? Now she’s off it?” They were talking about his ex-wife, Frenesi, years and miles in the past. Why, besides the free lunch, was Zoyd sitting here listening to this? Hector, leaning forward bright-eyed, had begun to show signs of enjoying himself. “Where is she?”
    â€œWell, we
had
her under Witness Protection.”
    Not hearing the stress on
had
right away, “Oh bullshit, Hector, that’s for Mob folks trying to be ex-Mob ’thout havin’ to die first, since when are you usin’ that Mafia meat locker for politicals, thought you just took ’em put ’em in the booby hatch like they do over there in Russia.”
    â€œWell, technically it was a different budget line, but still run by the U.S. Marshals, same as with the Mob type of witness.”
    Man could crush him with just a short tap dance over the computer keys—why was Hector being so unnaturally amiable? All that could possibly be restraining the tough old doorkicker was kindness, unfortunately a trait he was born so short on that nobody living or dead had ever observed it anywhere near him.
    â€œSo—she’s in with all these Mob snitches, the money disappears, but you still have her file, you can punch her up when you need her—”
    â€œWrong. Her file is destroyed.” The word hung in the wood space, between percussive attacks from next door.
    â€œWhy? Thought you guys never destroyed a file, ’th all ’ese little fund, defund, refund games—”
    â€œWe don’t know why. But it’s no game in Washington—
chále ése
—this ain’t tweakín around no more with no short-term maneuvers here, this is a
real
revolution, not that little fantasy handjob you people was into, is it’s a groundswell, Zoyd, the wave of History, and you can catch it, or scratch it.” He eyed Zoyd with a smug look which in view of what he’d been doing to his tostada, over, by now, most of the tabletop, lacked authenticity. “The man who once shot the old Hermosa Pier durín a lightnín storm,” Hector shaking his head. “Listen, K mart this week has full-length mirrors on sale, and I’m nobody’s charm-school professor, but I’d urge you to get one. Might want to start upgradín your image, li’l buddy.”
    â€œWait a minute, you
don’t know why
her file was destroyed?”
    â€œIs why we’re gonna need your help. The money’s good.”
    â€œOh, shit. Yah, hah, hah, hah, you lost her’s what happened, some idiot back there wiped out the computer file, right? Now you don’t even know where she is, and you think I do.”
    â€œNot exactly. We think now she’s headín back here.”
    â€œShe wa’n’ spoze to Hector, that was never part of the deal. I wondered how long it was gonna take—twelve, thirteen years, not bad, you mind if I call the Guinness Book Hot Line with this, it has to be a world record for fascist regimes keepin’ their word.”
    â€œStill simmerín away with those same old feelings, I see—figured you’d be mellower by now, maybe some reconciliation with reality, I dunno.”
    â€œWhen the State withers away, Hector.”
    â€œ
Caray
, you sixties people, it’s amazing. Ah love ya! Go anywhere, it don’t matter—hey, Mongolia! Go way out into small-town Outer Mongolia,
ése
, there’s gonna be some local person about your age come runnín up, two fingers in a V, hollerín, ‘What’s yer sign, man?’ or singín ‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida’ note for note.”
    â€œSatellites, everybody hears everything, space is really something, what else?”
    The dope cop permitted himself an Eastwood-style mouth-muscle nuance. “Don’t be