“So, I should have the chili?” the man asked.

“Good call,” she said.

Suddenly I was aware of myself at the counter observing the interaction. Eigen saw me looking at her and walked over, asked me what in the h-e-l-l I wanted.

“I want to know what to do next,” I said.

“Don’t we all?”

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Oh, names don’t matter,” she said. “Is my name really my name? There are lots of people with my name. Let’s say my name is Mary. Can we say that?”

“Yes.”

“But Mary is the name of my name, but I am not my name. My name and I are not interchangeable. So, though my name is Mary, I am not Mary, but it’s what you call me, if you choose to call me. Do you choose to call me? What is your name?”

“Humpty,” I said.

“Now that’s a name,” she said. “It doesn’t rhyme with many things, does it. Except for”—she opened the menu on the counter in front of me and pointed at item thirty-seven—“Dumpty.”

“Dumpty?”

“Dumpty. Made fresh every day.”

“Is it good?” I asked.

“No, it’s terrible, but it is number thirty-seven on the menu and that counts for something.”

“Why is that?”

“Thirty-seven is an odd number, silly.”

“So are two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, twenty-three, twenty-nine, thirty-one, forty-one, forty-three, and forty-seven,” I said.

“Yes, but thirty-seven is special.”

“Why?”

“Because if you turn it around, it’s still prime. Seventy-three.”

“But that’s true of thirteen and seventeen, also.”

“Then you should have the chili.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Are we going to Fort Knox? Wala?”

“What?”

“Wala?”

I woke up. “Yes?”

“Are we going to Fort Knox?” Eigen asked. She was sitting next to me on the bed.

“Do you think we should?” I asked.

There was a knock at the door and then a crash at the window. Armored men came through the big window attached to ropes. Weapons at the ready. Then the door was kicked in by more soldiery types. They surrounded Eigen and me.

5

Mitchell walked in first. His black suit was pressed and stiff, as was he. He was followed by the somewhat less impressive looking Bill Clinton. His suit was olive khaki, an army green that might have looked good on a soldier, but probably not. It was Clinton who spoke first.

“I told you that you couldn’t hide from us.”

“When did you tell me that?” I asked.

“Didn’t I tell him that?” he asked Mitchell.

Mitchell shrugged.

“I’m certain I said that to you.” He pointed his finger at me. “So forget about running.”

“What happened in Massachusetts?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” Clinton and Mitchell sat on the other bed and faced Eigen and me.

“Why didn’t you just knock?” Eigen asked.

“We did,” Mitchell said.

“But then you came through the window,” she said.

“Your point?” Mitchell asked.

“Never mind that,” Clinton said. “What about Massachusetts?”