At his back, Carter said, “Are you okay, son?”

“I’m not your son,” he replied as he shoved the wallet back into his pants and took a long drag off the cigarette.

“That’s not good for you,” Carter said. “Haven’t you seen those commercials where the girl peels off part of her face as payment for a pack?”

“Once again, you’re not my father. You’re not even my boss.”

“If I was, I’d tell you that you’re doing a hell of a job.”

“Oh yeah, I’m making friends left and right. At this rate, they’ll be breaking out the torches and pitchforks by dinner. Chanting, ‘Get the freak’.”

“No one is out to get you. And no one thinks you’re a freak.”

“If they’re around me long enough, they do.”

Carter laughed, and a bit taken aback by the outburst—people didn’t typically laugh at him right to his face—Burke said, “You think I’m some kind of joke? Some monkey to do a little dance for your amusement?”

Carter, still chuckling to himself, held up a hand and replied, “Absolutely not. But I did just figure something out about you.”

“You can keep it to yourself. You’re not my shrink either. Not that I need one.”

“Nothing like that. I just figured out why you smoke. I’ve noticed a few coughs and hacks, like you’re not always a smoker. You only smoke in social situations, don’t you? You use it as an excuse to step away and be alone.”

“People get suspicious or think you’re sick if you go to the bathroom too much. They don’t question a smoker needing a fix. See, you’re a good detective, you don’t need me.”

“You have a gift, and I don’t want to see you waste it under the hood of a car. Neither does your father. He’s struggled at that profession for years and wants better for you. Your mind can make connections and find order and meaning where others only see chaos.”

“I like working on cars. It’s what makes me happy.”

“Then why did you feel the need to acquire multiple degrees under a false name?”

Burke gritted his teeth. He had often asked himself that same question. He simply liked to learn and understand things. He studied psychology to better understand people, but once he was caught, his clandestinely earned degrees had caused him nothing but headaches.

“I was bored,” he said. “And just because my dad asked you to help clear up all the fraud stuff doesn’t mean that I have to be your indentured servant for the rest of my life.”

“You’re not my slave. I’m not exactly a believer in that sort of thing. My ancestors were from the South. My great-grandfather picked cotton on the largest plantation in Georgia.”

“Fascinating. Does that mean I can go home now?”

Carter sighed. “You can do what you want, but I think that your assistance could help save the lives of those hostages. And I don’t think being a mechanic is what you really want to do with your life.”