They heard the roar of a wound out six-cylinder. A police cruiser flashed across the mouth of the alleyway, whipping up litter like leaves in its wake.

'I gotta feeling,' Thomas added lamely.

The car arrived several minutes afterward, a black beemer with tinted windows. It coasted to a stop at the mouth of the alley. The driver was East Indian, very smartly dressed. He simply stepped out of the still-running vehicle and began walking.

'I'm driving,' Mia said, hoisting Frankie to hand him over.

'No,' Thomas said. 'Once we get out of the city, I'll drop you off.'

'Are you fucking kidd—'

'I can't afford to spook Neil. You know that.'

Mia nodded, hitched Frankie higher onto his shoulder. They walked to the car together.

Neil was right. It took time to assess and to organize. You could still slip through so long as you didn't hesitate. They used Bill's television to guide them through the police cordon before it could be effectively closed. Then they tossed it out just to be safe. Who knew what the Feds could do?

Perhaps it was the beemer's soundproofing, or simply their post-adrenalin exhaustion, but a deceptive sense of normalcy crept into their drive out of the city. The sky was brightening in the east. Early-morning commuters were beginning to populate the roads. The world suddenly seemed orderly—servile even.

Thomas found himself thinking about coffee, even though he knew that his horror was likely just beginning.

'I hope they pick out a nice one,' Mia murmured at one point, staring out over the dark Hudson.

'Nice what?' Thomas asked.

'Picture. Sooner or later they're going to start flashing pictures of me and my old act.'

Thomas glanced at his Number One Neighbor.

Mia snorted. 'What did you think? That the morning Post would read "PSYCHOLOGIST AND NEIGHBOR ABDUCT BRAIN-DAMAGED SON"? It'll be "PSYCHOLOGIST AND CROSS-DRESSER", trust me.'

'I hadn't even thought about it.'

'I'd bet my pink panty paycheck. Psychologists? Everyone knows you can't trust psychologists. You can't trust anyone who actually knows the rules. Once you know them, you can manipulate them. And cross-dressers… Well, they're just fucked up to begin with. They can't even dress right, let alone aim at the right hole.'

Thomas stared at the road in the headlights, at the lane-marking lines roping to either side, thinking of that word, 'right.' Humans were judging machines, hard-wired to conserve the beliefs and attitudes that were required to keep stone-age communities afloat. They condemned so quickly, so regularly, because once it was imperative for their survival. Now, it was little more than psychodrama, yet another set of maladapted reflexes. People like Mia were mocked and ridiculed not for loving wrong, but because someone had to be mocked and ridiculed.

'It could be a good thing though,' Thomas said after a pause.

'What are you talking about?'