I managed to say thank you and extended my hand. But Dr. Kriss didn’t shake it, she just held it for a moment until, confused, I let go. I put my shades back on and hurried to the ambulance bay.

—

Gwen and Vince of Common Dreams were preparing to discharge Zeke. I’d ride out with them to the south side. Sitting on the bumper of the purple truck, Zeke was hardly recognizable. Someone had shampooed him, which made his hair puff up in a bizarre halo, and he wore a fresh denim shirt and khakis. He looked healthier than I’d ever seen him, though he was nervously chewing his lip to the point that it was bleeding.

“Do you need a tissue, Zeke?” I asked.

He ignored me.

“Did they pay you?”

“He got his money, alright,” Vince told me. “You won’t get a word out of him, though.”

“Do you feel you’ve been mistreated?” I tried.

Zeke flicked his ear and spat on the floor of the bay.

“Alright, we’re ready to roll,” said Gwen, and Zeke quickly climbed into the truck.

He sat with his knees to his chin until we reached the south side. A few people gathered around the truck to see what we’d hand out, but when the bike thief emerged and shuffled into the blazing afternoon, they took a few steps back, sizing him up in his weird new clothes.

“Alright,” said Vince. “You’re free at last, bud.”

“Good luck, Zeke,” I said.

He walked backwards, staring at us. When a woman got too close to him, he pushed her off.

“Get away,” he growled, and then lunged at another man. “Get away.”

“Easy, Zeke,” said the man.

He pointed at us. “I’m one of them now, I’m dangerous.”

The people laughed.

“What a guy,” said Gwen.

“I like him,” said Vince.

I watched the bike thief stalk out past some tents in a field of rubble. His shadow mingled with the trees beyond, a medical miracle reborn into the world.

11.

When I got back to the bungalow, there was an e-mail:

Whitney,

Excuse my jackass manners. I checked you out and you seem square. Look, you want what I’ve got. Maybe we can work something out. I’ll be at Salty’s Marina today around 3, that’s F-dock 12, east pier. Delete this e-mail, OK?

—Sunshine Ray

I checked my watch—already past two.

I quickly booked a flight out of there for the following morning and called Candy’s son-in-law, telling him I’d put the key through the mail slot. Then I threw on my Devil Rays cap and drove to Salty’s Marina.