That was when the lead guard returned with Donny’s business card still in his hand. He walked up to Donny and handed the card back.

“We have no record of that release, and you’re not on the list.”

“What list?”

“You can turn your vehicle around, and follow Officer Sullivan here to the return path.”

“I’m not going anywhere without my client. I have an order from a federal judge.”

“Did you hear that, Sully?” said the guard. “He has an order from a federal judge.”

“All right, Burger King,” said Donny. “Have it your way.”

Donny opened his car door.

“Stay in the car,” said Burger King.

Donny disregarded that order.

As soon as his feet touched pavement, the klaxon rang. And almost as soon as he stood up to face the guards, Titus took him down, paws on suit flannel.

When he looked up at the fangs, and the three gun barrels backing them up, Donny wondered if this was really the best way to get inside.

They took all of Donny’s stuff, everything but his clothes, and put him in a holding room. It reminded him of the interrogation suite at the federal detention in Houston—painted cinder-block walls, a metal bench bolted to the concrete floor, a picture of the President on the wall next to a poster in seven languages that explained how travelers have no Fourth Amendment rights in the borderzone, no matter what passport they carry. In the middle of the steel door was a little slat to look through from the other side. In the middle of the floor was a drain, which only made you wonder what fluids they planned to spill.

At least the air conditioning was working. They had it extra cold, on purpose.

They had left Donny uncuffed. They usually went a little easier on lawyers, he had learned, because lawyers were more effective than their usual victims at whining to judges about their treatment in detention.

“Fuck you,” said Donny, to the face of the President staring at him from across the room. It was one of those official portraits where he had that almost-smile. The wily executive who will let you choose between serving him or fighting him.

He got up and tried to pull the picture off the wall, but they had attached it to where it was like a part of the wall. So he tried smashing it, and scratching it, with his bare hands. And right as he was about to give up, it came unmoored from the wall. Just a crack, but enough to be able to pry it all the way, pulling out some chunks of cinder block as it came free. Then he cracked it against the steel door, and shoved it through the slit. The metal frame clanged loudly as it hit the floor outside.