Luke stepped out, searching his pockets for the truck keys. Clayton was quiet behind him, rotating and bending his arm, now free of its cast.

The sun was warm, cutting through the cool December breeze. It was getting so cold at night to where there would be frost on the grass and vehicles in the morning. Luke hadn't suspected that snow would come this year but now it seemed as though he might be wrong.

As he reached the truck, he heard a noise. It was thunderous and low, reminding him of the sound the earth would make when they set off a dynamite charge. He turned around to ask Clayton if he'd heard it, however, the little man was nowhere to be found.

Luke looked around, a bit flabbergasted. "Clayton?" he called out.

There was, however, no sign nor sound of Clayton Jennings.

Bo walked into the house rubbing his arms from the chill of the day. He found the Dreamer sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper and a phone book. Her hunched posture brought up her sizable shoulders.

"Hey," Bo said, not having expected her to be sitting there.

Her posture didn't change and only her eyes raised to meet him, an expression that could've easily been mistaken for a glare.

"Hey," the woman replied, her voice quiet.

"What're you doin'?" Bo asked, leaning on the chair next to her.

"Job searchin'."

"You weren't kiddin' about stickin' around?"

Marie's gaze met his. "Yeah, why not? Thunder's happy here."

"Y'know, you could stay here. With me."

Marie looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "No offense to y'all but… I like to be alone."

"You said you wanted to settle down."

"Yeah. Alone."

"Well, normally that means…"

"What? I marry a man and have five kids? Yeah, no thanks."

"Well, not exactly, I mean-"

He was cut off by the sound of the door slamming open and Luke kicking off his boots. Bo took into notice the fact that his older cousin was whistling and seemed rather cheerful.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Bo asked.

Luke smiled up at him. "Great! Couldn'ta gone better!"

Bo looked past him as he walked through the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, growing skeptical. "Where's Clayton?"

Luke poured coffee into a white ceramic cup, turning to face Bo when it was full. "Uh, gone."

"What? What d'you mean he's gone?"

"You know, disappeared. Did his little finger-snap thing and-" Luke snapped his fingers. "Gone."

"All his stuff's here, Luke, you'd think he'd come back for it," Bo argued.

Luke shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. "All I care is that he's finally outta our lives."

"Luke, you wanted him here."

"You sure had a bum way of showin' it. You two were at each other's throats, which's weird for me to say seein' as how I've only been here a couple days," Marie butt in.

"What if somethin' happened to him?" Bo asked. "Y'know, he's been actin' weird for the past couple of days."

"Don't care," Luke said, taking another sip of coffee.

"You ain't even gonna try to look for him?"

"Nope."

Bo and Marie exchanged a worried glance, but nothing else was said.

Gravedigger took them back to the hotel with its grand lobby and quiet air, safe from the outside world of the city. In there, they waited a moment or two as Gravedigger left to retrieve 'The Teacher' as he called them. The Defects' gazes raised to meet his as he returned, an equally small man at his side.

General gave them a curious look as they approached. Gravedigger grinned at them, gesturing to the man at his side.

"Fellas, I want you to meet Billy Ray. He's a teacher, teaches Defects how to read. Best one there is," Gravedigger explained.

Billy Ray adjusted his glasses and held out a hand to General with a scoff. "Well, the General Lee, as I live and breathe."

"You must be Billy Ray," General replied.

Billy Ray gave a slight bow. "The one and only. I heard there's a Defect around here who needs to learn how to read."

He looked around expectedly, not even sparing a glance towards General, who was now a light shade of pink. General touched the man's shoulder to focus his attention back on him.

"Ah, that'd be me…" General said sheepishly.

Billy Ray turned to him. "You? But you're the…" He trailed off, slowly forming a nod. "Alright… alright, I'll do it. It'd be an honor."

Scott was a man of simple reserve. He was, by definition, a God-fearing man and didn't consider himself to give into temptations of the Devil. There were exceptions to this creed, however, such as the drinking of alcohol and sex before marriage. In other words, this man named Scott was an all-around ordinary man in a red and white pickup truck driving down the road. The radio was tuned into a country radio station, one that he mumbled along to as he drove.

Something to be assumed about him is that he was on his way home from work, however, his purpose for being on that particular road at that particular time will be left to the reader to decide for themselves.

If, otherwise, he'd been on a different road, he would've never had his biggest fears come true.

As the truck rumbled over a bridge, his gaze was alerted of a figure stumbling out into the middle of the road. And, without much time to react, the inevitable happened.

The truck lurched at the impact and Scott nearly stood on the brakes, tire sliding on the gravel. As the truck skidded to a stop and Scott shifted it into Park, sweat beading on his forehead as he sat with a thousand-yard-stare. He swallowed hard as he reached a shaking hand for the door handle, pushing it open tentatively.

His feathered walk around the perimeter of his vehicle was shaky and prolonged as he struggled to keep from fainting. He followed the sound of a pained groan to the ditch on the side of the road. As he drew close, he peered down into the ditch, still very much shaken but curious above all.

"You okay down there?" Scott called down to the figure in the weeds, coiled like a snake.

A blue-eyed gaze came up to meet him, menacing and cold, also like a snake. It nearly made him jump back.

The figure uncoiled to reveal a man of small stature, struggling to his feet in the ditch. Scott stared at him as he climbed up to the road, partially wondering how he was still alive.

"You all right?" Scott asked, a bit sheepishly.

"Yes, no thanks to you," the smaller man spat, brushing himself off of dirt and grass.

His gray suit and his pale skin were dirtied to quite an extent and blotches of blood stained him from head to toe.

"You sure you're all right?" Scott asked, holding out a hand to him.

Clayton glanced at his hand and scowled. "Quite."

Scott pulled his arm back awkwardly. "Could I… could I offer you a ride?"

"No," Clayton replied bitterly, raising a hand.

He snapped his fingers, blinking once or twice and looking around. He snapped his fingers a couple of more times, growing frustrated. Sighing, he turned his gaze back to Scott.

"Yes," he said, rather dejectedly, "I would like a ride."

Scott nodded in a quite ghastly manner and led the smaller man to his truck.

The Dukes, who had further accepted Clayton's disappearance and moved on, were not only taken by surprise by the spontaneous pickup truck pulling into their driveway but its passenger as well. So, as they went out to meet the truck, the arrival, or rather re-arrival, of the man who was neither loved nor hated more or less.

The red pickup rolled to a stop in front of their humble farmhouse, its occupants tumbling out and nearly immediately separating.

"Well, forgive me for tryna show my gratitude. You did pick a stranger up off the side of the road, after all," Clayton said in his usual snide manner.

This manner, as highly expected by the Dukes, however, was lost in the confounded revelation of the man's appearance. He'd been hit by a truck and definitely looked like it too.

"I hit you with my truck! The least I could do was offer you a ride," the burly man who'd been driving argued.

"A ride without wantin' anythin' in return? I wasn't born yesterday," Clayton shot back, brushing off his coat.

"I hit you! With my truck! You could've died!"

Clayton sighed and waved a dismissive hand, turning to the Dukes with a new air. "Oh good, boys! I have horrible news!"

Luke folded his arms, his usual, ornery self having returned. "What happened to you? I thought you were gone."

"Mais, you'd like that wouldn't you. No, I was only temporarily displaced. More or less, I figured out what the Defects are really up against."

"Clayton," Daisy said, voice laced with concern, "what'd you do to this poor man?"

"Nothin' important," the little man answered quickly, raising a hand behind him to snap his fingers in Scott's face. "He don't remember a thing."

Scott raised an eyebrow and leaned to the side, looking down at him then back to the Dukes. "I-I think he mighta hit his head or somethin'. Y'all might wanna get him checked out."

Clayton groaned. "Are you kiddin' me?" he exclaimed. He turned around and waved the burly man off. "Shoo! Off with you!"

The man put his hands up defensively and backed off to his truck.

Clayton turned back to the Dukes. "On a side note, I think my devilish," he put air-quotes around the word 'devilish', "abilities are a tad drained at the moment."

Luke watched as the red pickup sped away. "What was this horrible news you had to tell us?"

"Right, that. I just learned that the president-mistress-of the opposing political party of Dallas as of right now is a being of," Clayton paused to clear his throat, "my standing."

"Meanin'..." Luke trailed off, expecting the little man to continue.

Clayton put his hands to the side of his head, index fingers pointed to the sky.

Luke didn't understand. "And this's horrible news because…"

"Oh, they could all die."

"You coulda led with that."

"You're gonna do somethin' about that, ain't you?" Bo asked.

Clayton thought for a moment, rubbing his arm where it was sore. "I suppose there's somethin' I could do to give 'em an advantage but I ain't sure y'all would like it much."

"Whatever it is, just do it. We don't need lives on the line, we've got enough troubles as it is," Luke explained, more of a stern talking-to than anything.

Clayton shrugged. "As you wish, mes amis."

With that, he started walking away, some watching him go. Luke shook his head, arms still folded.

It became quiet until Jesse broke it.

"If any of you kids turned out that way I'da turned you over my knee so fast," he said.

Luke scoffed, fighting a smile. "Odd company we keep."

Jesse nodded. "Odd company."

The words danced and twirled and played hide and seek and General for the life of him could not make any sense of them. So instead, he did what he always did. Improvise, adapt, overcome. Billy Ray walked him through every word, every line of the speech. General listened and repeated, pretending that he was reading, though God knew he could not. Already pressed for time, in the end, he simply memorized the damned thing. And it worked. He 'read' the entire thing to Billy Ray in their hotel room in the Continental in the morning hours of October 7th. Gravedigger had taken the liberty to inform them of the name of the hotel in hopes they'd be able to find it if they got lost.

The seven Defects, who had refused to separate, all shared a suite on the same floor as Gravedigger, just down the hall from his. And so, they all readily traversed between the two. Unfortunately, they only occupied those two rooms, meaning that they often had encounters with other human occupants and while they didn't leave the hotel, much less their floor, they found that there were very polar opinions.

Some humans scowled at them and moved to the other side of the hallway when they saw them. Others would simply grin at them and greet them, treating them as any other. Despite these encounters, it didn't lessen General's sense of feeling like an alien.

Nevertheless, he paced around the room, rehearsing his speech and anxiously awaiting the hour of its delivery. And so it came on the 7th of October at one o'clock in the afternoon that Autumn, Gravedigger, and Billy Ray retrieved General from the room on the fifth floor of the hotel Continental.

As they traversed the city, Billy Ray ran him through the words of the speech over and over. But General knew it, he'd memorized it long before Billy Ray had wanted him to because he'd wanted him to read the words on the page, not memorize the words coming out of his mouth. But General had done that anyway because he'd accepted the fact that he could not read and that he would never be able to read because that was just his nature. It was impossible, and that was that.

And despite all of this planning and memorizing, though General was confident in the contents of the speech, he was a bundle of nerves. He feared that when he got up there, in front of all those eyes, that he'd forget what he was to say. What then?

As the bus screeched to a stop and the other three stood, General felt a growing pit in the bottom of his stomach. They exited the bus onto the dry and nearly reflective sidewalk. There were aluminum barricades corralling them towards a big stage, its black skirts caressing the pavement. General thought how fitting it was to be dressed in black, as if the stage itself had anticipated his funeral.

The flamboyant Miss Fleetwood was there at the base of the stairs, with her big hair and shiny blue suit. She was flanked by big men in black suits and dark sunglasses. General imagined she'd have security. Miss Fleetwood's arms were spread wide and her cherry lips were open and the shoulderpads of her coat were like mountains. Her voice was big and high-pitched as she greeted them, attacking General with a hug.

"Aw, you made it!" she exclaimed as she hugged him tight. She pulled away, smiling and resting her hands on his shoulders. "Did the speech go okay?"

General nodded and Billy Ray cut in before he had the chance to speak.

"Yep! He got it all memorized!" the little man exclaimed.

"Wonderful!" Miss Fleetwood exclaimed.

Gravedigger and Billy Ray got to talking to Miss Fleetwood and General's mind began to wonder. He hadn't been sure of what to expect. There was an ensemble of voices behind him, ones that he'd been otherwise steered away from. Kept at bay by a barricade and armed police officers was an entourage of people yelling and waving signs that directed hate toward a black and shiny heart dripping a black substance.

It didn't take General long to decipher the meaning. The black substance was oil and those people were not fond of those that bled oil. How anyone knew that Defects bled oil, however, was something he didn't want to think of. Had it been ethical? Or had the poor Defect been beaten and trampled in the street only for onlookers to later stand over him, watching him bleed out, and saying, "Look at that! He bleeds oil! The human car bleeds oil!"

The thought made the abyss of his stomach grow and he could've doubled over right there. Like a punch to the gut. A hand on his shoulder startled him and he turned to meet Autumn's worried gaze.

"You all right there, big shot?" she asked.

General nodded. "Yeah, I'm all right."

He wanted to talk to her more, seemingly the only familiar face there as Gravedigger's latest countenance he didn't recognize and wasn't particularly fond of his attitude. However, he was pulled away from Autumn and pushed towards the base of the stairs leading up to the stage.

He could already hear the voices of the crowd, and the protesters behind him, and the voices in his head telling him this was a terrible idea, and he had no idea what Gravedigger and Billy Ray were saying to him because he wasn't paying attention to them.

Billy Ray put the speech in his hands. "Now, if you get nervous up there and forget the words, you'll have this to help you. Remember to just relax and have fun with it, these people already love you!"

General stumbled over some words that'd found their way into his mouth, however, was cut off by Gravedigger. "And remember, you ain't just representin' us or the other Defects, you're representin' all of the Defects, everywhere. Got it?"

General could barely muster a nod before he was passed to Miss Fleetwood. The big, colorful woman grinned at him and held up two 'thumbs-up's before sending him on his way. And General did everything in his power not to trip on the steps going up.

He could feel his body starting to shake. His hands grew clammy and he tried to remember the first lines of the speech but everything was becoming a jumbled mess. As his foot hit the black-clothed, wood platform, he felt his stomach lurch and the reminder that he'd eaten a big, tasty waffle for breakfast made him want to vomit.

It was then that he took his very first look at the crowd. Nothing like the protesters on the street. These people were cheering for him and they weren't just people. There were Defects that were humans and Defects that were cars and regular humans and it was all so surreal he wanted to faint.

There were cameras flashing and people yelling and his hands were sweating and the tag of his jacket was poking the back of his neck and his head was spinning. He wanted to run. Every instinct was telling him to run. But he was frozen. His head was spinning but his feet were planted and his body was frozen. And he was scared and nervous and he for the life of him could not remember what that damn paper said. Dear God, he felt like he was going to vomit.

His knees felt weak as he stepped up to the podium, in front of a microphone, cameras still flashing in his eyes. The sun was in his eyes too as he faced the west. Laying the paper down on the podium, he lay it facedown, knowing it would do him no good for one and for two not wanting to be reminded that he was doing something wrong. He cleared his throat, the microphone make a horrid screeching noise. General cringed and looked back at the crowd, who was now silent and also cringing at the sound.

Tentatively, he inched back toward the microphone, looking out over the sea of faces. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead.

"Good afternoon, Dallas," he said, trying to keep his voice smooth.

An eruption of cheers was the crowd's response. He thought maybe he could buy himself some time while he tried to remember the speech.

"Uh, first of all, I wanna thank y'all for comin' out here today. I'm sure your support means a lot to these fine folks. Uh…" his voice trailed off again and the microphone gave another little squeal. He cringed.

Why couldn't he remember what he had to say? There wasn't a line that he hadn't rehearsed but now it was all gone. He remembered what the speech was about at least, messages of peace and acceptance and equality, things people shouldn't have needed to be reminded about. But there was no particular order to these messages and his mind kept jumping from idea to idea.

Usually when he gave orders to the Defects, he either improvised or had a plan already visualized in his mind, in 3D. But this had been words on a paper and sound waves, neither of those things were 3D nor capable of being. So his brain couldn't see them, and he didn't know why, but it aggravated him.

General sighed, trying to get his thoughts in order, but mostly trying to calm his nerves.

"Look, I ain't gonna stand up here and tell you fine people how you should and shouldn't think, that ain't my business. Now, I ain't all that familiar with what's been goin' on around here lately, and I know that there's people out there that don't like us Defects, but there ain't no reason to fight about it. And I know that I can't speak for all Defects, but where I'm from, us Defects are part of the community. All we're out to do is live, work, and love, and if somebody has a problem with that, they're more than welcome to take it up with us."

At the base of the stairs, the politicians were exchanging worried and confused glances.

"What's he doing?" Miss Fleetwood asked.

"That ain't the speech," Billy Ray reported.

Gravedigger let out a small growl of frustration. "He's goin' off-script."

Autumn couldn't help but grin and fold her arms. "He's awesome."

Meanwhile, General had started again. "I uh… I had a little somethin' prepared for y'all but I can't quite seem to remember it at the moment so I think I'll leave y'all with this: uh, a lotta us Defects ain't a threat. We just wanna live. But a lotta us are afraid, and I've seen it first-hand. But you know what else I've seen a lot of? Growth. And that's my final statement to y'all is that I believe that we can grow as a society." General nodded, seeing the looks of agreement upon the faces of the crowd. "Together."

There were cheers and camera flashes and General found more microphones being shoved in his face. He'd been familiar with the press but never at this proximity. They had microphones and cameras and notepads. They had tweed suits and provocative voices.

"Will you answer any questions?" asked a man in the front.

General looked upon him fondly as he realized the man looked exactly how he thought a reporter would look. "Sure, friend, suppose I could."

And so, he was met with so many questions he didn't even know where to start.

And the politicians were watching this.

"Shit, it's the press," Gravedigger hissed. "Someone get him outta there, now!"

The 'press conference' went as follows:

"What are your opinions about the Liberator party?"

"The what?" General asked, confused.

"Do you have any past or previous association with the HRO?"

"Uh, no, I do not."

"Do you agree with the speaker Gravedigger on his claims of Defects only existing because of humans? And if so, do you agree with his ideas of culture?"

"Well, I suppose that'd be right seein' as cars were invented by the human race, but I'd say we Defects came about on our own terms. As for Gravedigger's culture I don't think I can say much about that."

Just then, he was guided away from the podium by a pair of slender hands. There were cries of protest from the press.

"No more questions!" Gravedigger called out with a dismissive hand.

With that, he disappeared down the stairs.

"What the hell was that?" Gravedigger growled behind General as they descended.

"I panicked, I froze, I dunno what you wanted me to do," General argued.

"I wanted you to stick to the plan, read off that paper, that's all you had to do, it was so simple!"

"It ain't that simple, though, Diggs! I can't read it."

"But Billy Ray got you to read it, I don't understand."

"No he didn't."

"General, what're you talking about, I watched you read it to me," Billy Ray argued.

"I memorized it. I didn't read it, I just listened to you read it to me and memorized the words that way. But when I got up there, I got so worked up that I forgot the whole thing. So I improvised."

Gravedigger sighed and pinched his nose. "If only you understood what you did."

"Help me understand then."

"Look, the press set you up. You were supposed to be our down to earth, unbiased camaraderie as a sort of last line of defense against propaganda speculation, you weren't supposed to say you agreed with me, not once did we say you should answer questions."

"You never told me not to either. As a matter of fact, I find you've been keepin' me in the dark about a lotta stuff, and I ain't too fond of it."

General poked Gravedigger in the chest to emphasize his point before pushing past him and stalking off. The four of them watched him go, Gravedigger still fuming. He started after him but Autumn stopped him.

"Let him go, you both need a break," she said.

General got off with a stern talking to and was sent back to the Continental, for the time being at least. It'd been a long day, anyway, and his nerves were shot by the time he entered their suite.

He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it with a sigh. As the tension left his body, he reopened his eyes, looking around the room.

Grand sat on one of the beds, Tank on the floor in front of him, reading a book. Caleb lay on the sofa asleep and the Black Maiden was seated in front of the television. Thunder and Diablo seemed to be absent.

"Hey," Grant said, looking up at General as he walked in.

He'd been braiding a strand of Tank's hair.

"Hey," General replied tiredly. "Where's Thunder?"

"Out. We sent him to the convenience store to get some food," Grant explained. "How's it going?"

"Crummy. They're tryna get me to read and I just can't. I think there's somethin' wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you, you just learn differently I guess."

"That's easy for you to say, you can read."

"Hey, it's not all bad, I mean, there's people out there that still idolize you."

General put his face in his hands. "Yeah, but I made an ass out of myself in front of hundreds of 'em today."

Grant shrugged. "So what? What do you care what a bunch of strangers think?"

General shook his head. "Whatever, I'm gonna go lie down."

Just then, Diablo entered from the room adjacent which had become their sort of command center with stationary, a refrigerator, and a dining table.

"Hey, where's Thunder? Said he'd be back by now?" Diablo asked.

"You didn't go with him?" General asked in return.

Diablo shook his head and shrugged.

Grant shrugged again. "I don't know. It's not my job to keep track of him."

"Yeah, the big guy can handle himself. I'm sure he's fine," Tank chimed in.

"And y'all just let him go alone?" General asked.

"Like I said, he can handle himself."

"Y'all, this ain't Hazzard, he could get into real trouble out there. We gotta find him."

"Gen, I'm sure he's fine. I think you're overreacting a little. I mean, this is Thunder we're talking about," Grant argued.

"I still wanna be sure. Grant, Diablo, c'mon."

Diablo followed. Grant rolled his eyes and his neck and grumbled, but eventually rolled off the bed and followed his brother out the door.

The three of them hurried out into the sunset city, down to the parking lot of the Continental where they passed by Trigger, waking him.

"Trigger, you seen Thunder?" General called to him. "He woulda passed by here."

The Trans Am yawned and shook himself. "Afraid I haven't. I've been sleepin'. I can help ya look for him if y'all want."

General sighed and dropped his gaze. "No, just… stay here, let us know if he comes back, alright?"

Trigger nodded. "Will do."

With that, they continued on their way, navigating to the convenience store, with no sign of Thunder along the way. As they entered the white light of the convenience store, they found, to their dismay, that their friend wasn't inside. Glass doors shutting softly behind them, they looked around, finding that the store was actually quite deserted other than the sleepy young man behind the counter.

General walked up to him, leaning on the counter and looking down at the man. "Hey, I'm lookin' for somebody, think you could help me?"

The young man shrugged, eyes sleepy. "Sure?"

"Great, there woulda been a man in here, tall with black hair, kinda long. Wearin' a black leather jacket."

"Yeah, him and some other guy, left here a couple minutes ago."

"He was with someone? What'd he look like?"

The man nodded. "Very business casual."

That narrows it down, General thought. "Did either of them buy anythin'?"

The man shook his head but said nothing more.

General nodded. "Thanks for your help."

And with that, he walked away, meeting with the other two.

"Either of you get anythin'?" he asked.

Diablo shook his head. "Nada."

Grant shrugged and pointed to the store's surveillance cameras. "Those would be handy but I doubt we'd be able to get a look at them. If Thunder was here and he still had his powers, he'd be able to tap into those things in two seconds."

General thought for a moment, finger absently tapping his cheek. "Y'know what? That actually gives me an idea."

The three of them moved to the back of the building, hopefully undetected. Grant and General kept watch as Diablo worked some of his magic. Or rather, he was melting the door's locks.

After thirty seconds had passed, which was the amount of time General had anticipated it to take, he turned to the smaller Defect.

"Will you hurry up?" he hissed.

Diablo looked up at him. "I'm trying, pendejo, it's an art, not a science." Diablo paused. "Well, actually, it's more of a science than an art, I just like saying that."

"I don't care what it is, just hurry up."

Diablo rolled his eyes and set back to work, General turning to call out to Grant quietly.

"How is it?" he asked.

"All clear!" Grant whispered, throwing out a thumbs-up.

Just then, there was a clink as the door opened, melted metal pieces dropping to the ground. The door creaked open, revealing a dark room inside.

"Remind me what we're doing here again?" Grant said as he walked up.

"This's the maintenance door, I figured they'd have to have one. We should be able to get to the security office from here," General explained.

Grant looked at Diablo who shrugged. "It's all hypothetical, man," he said.

Grant followed his brother's gaze into the darkened room, then his shadow as he stepped inside. They were left in complete darkness as Diablo closed the door behind them. There were a few moments of complete darkness before there was a click and a single, yellow bulb flickered to life in the middle of the room. The two of them found General standing beneath it, holding a string that hung from the ceiling.

The light revealed that they were in a store room, metal shelves lined with various products. The three of them navigated through the room, finding another door to the left. General walked over, putting his back to the wall beside the door, the other two took cover behind a shelf.

Cautiously, General turned the door handle, pulling it open quickly. He reeled back, cringing, listening for any noise, however, there was none. Slowly, he leaned into the doorway, finding the dark, cramped office to be empty.

"Huh," he said surprisedly, walking inside, the others following.

There was an office chair sitting before a wide desk with an array of monitors showing grainy pictures of the convenience store.

"Shit, that was easy," Diablo said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Do your thing, Grant," General said, nodding to the monitors.

Grant cracked his fingers. "At least you act like I know what I'm doing." He pushed the chair out of the way, leaning on the desk and taking a look at the monitors. "Let's see here, how about we take the feedback from the front, rewind it, and see what we can find."

General watched as he pressed a few buttons, one of the monitors turning to a screen full of black and white static as a tape ejected. Grant took it and walked over to the far side of the room where a big, square television sat on a rolling stand, a VHS player sitting on the shelf just below it. He powered on the TV and the player, popped in the tape, and hit the rewind button. As the images on the tape flickered to life, being played in reverse at a rapid pace, the three of them watched for their missing friend.

It didn't take long before General pointed at the screen and yelled, "There! That's him!"

Grant quickly stopped it, then let it play, the three of them watching intently. They watched as a familiar figure walked into the store and began to peruse the options for chips. Not far behind him was a man closely accurately described by the cashier. In other words, it was a man dressed in a gray sports jacket with a round pin on the left side of his chest and slacks who went right up to Thunder, seemingly told him something, and the two of them left quickly.

Grant paused it when they were no longer in sight and General was back to thinking.

"Rewind it," General said.

Grant did so, going back to the point when the other man entered. The man walked five steps before General ordered Grant to stop it. With the video paused, General now studied the picture closely, zeroing in on the man's pin. And it was then that he pointed to it and turned to look back at the other two, and then they saw it as well.

"Y'all think it's a coincidence that this pin's got Miss Fleetwood's face on it?" General asked.

The Lady's face couldn't be seen clearly but her big, ginger hair and satin blue suit were unmistakable.

"You think she's got something to do with this?" Diablo asked.

General shrugged. "Don't know, but what I do know is that she's hidin' somethin'. And whatever it is, I'm gonna get to the bottom of it."