1. Remembrances of Things Past

2. Homie

3. Enter Romeo (Stage Left)

4. Mountains of Things

5. Imperial Relations

6. Girls Will Be Girls

7. Close Quarters

8. Plant Life

9. The Fog of…What?

10. Unions? Not a Prayer!

11. Home on the Range

12. Company Practice

13. Hired Gun

14. (Re) Tired Gun

15. Heart-stopper

16. Command Performance

17. A Frog in My Jeans

18. Visiting Hours

19. The Hospitable Mr. Contreras

20. Buffalo—and Gal—Won’t You Come Out Tonight?

21. Loose Buffalo in Church

22. Poverty’s Whirlpool

23. Star-crossed Lovers

24. Yet Another Missing Child

25. Bedtime Stories

26. Annie, Get Your Gun

27. Death in the Swamp

28. It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No, It’s…

29. On the DL—Once Again

30. Comrades in Arms

31. The Walking Wounded

32. Time to Nail the Pastor to the Cross

33. Happy Families Are All Alike, Unhappy Families…

34. And the Rich Ain’t Happy, Either

35. Why, Freddy, What a Surprise!

36. Shown the Door—Again

37. Where the Buffalo Roam

38. Primitive Art

39. Painful Extraction

40. An Acid Touch

41. Punk, Cornered Like a Rat

42. The Hiding Place

43. The Fugitives

44. The Recording Angel…or Devil?

45. Down in the Dumps

46. Behold: The Purloined Pen

47. Office Party

48. Dancing Rhino

About The Author

PROLOGUE

I was halfway down the embankment when I saw the red-orange flash. I dropped to the ground and covered my head with my arms. And felt a pain in my shoulder so intense I couldn’t even cry out.

Lying facedown in bracken and trash, I breathed in shallow panting breaths, a dog, eyes glazed, until the pain receded enough that I could move. I edged away from the flames on my hands and knees, then drew myself up on my knees and sat very still. I willed my breaths to come slow and deep, pushing the pain far enough away to manage it. Finally, I gingerly put a hand to my left shoulder. A stick. Metal or glass, some piece of the window that had shot out like an arrow from a crossbow. I tugged on the stick, but that sent such a river of agony flowing through me that I started to black out. I curled over, cradling my head on my knees.

When the wave subsided, I looked across at the factory. The back window that had blown apart was awash with fire, blue-red now, a mass so thick I couldn’t make out flames, just the blur of hot color. Bolts of fabric were stored there, fueling the blaze.

And Frank Zamar. I remembered him with a sudden appalled jolt. Where had he been when that fireball blew up? I pushed myself to my feet as best I could and stumbled forward.

Weeping with pain, I pulled out my picklocks and tried to scrabble my way into the lock. It wasn’t until my third futile attempt that I remembered my cell phone. I fumbled it out of my pocket and called 911.