It was Mayor Peggy Vance. Dr. Kriss told her to be quiet, but I was awake again. She came forward bearing a massive gift basket wrapped in pink foil and set it on my bedside table.

“Whitney,” said the mayor, “I’m absolutely devastated.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’ve got half the city’s police force looking for these thugs. We’ve been counting on you to give Arcade a chance. I don’t want this to be your lasting impression.”

Dr. Kriss passed me a paper cup of water. Then, in my foggy way, I told the mayor the incident was unlikely to make it into the story. At best, it would warrant mention to illustrate conditions in the Tomahawk, but I wasn’t writing a review of her city.

My assurances seemed to cheer her up. In fact, they caused her to lose interest.

“Good,” she said. “That’s good. Please, accept this with our compliments.”

The mayor gestured to the gift basket, an assortment of goods from the merchants of Arcade: cranberry pistachio bark, buffalo sausage, an Antlers bath pillow.

“If you need anything else,” she said.

“Thanks, Peggy,” said Dr. Kriss, and the mayor left.

I thought Dr. Kriss would say something about our conversation on Wigwam Deck, but this was no longer about the story. She’d accepted me into her care, and so she sat with me, silently, consolingly, until I fell asleep.

6.

Everyone at the Bystander was impressed by the scabs that peppered my face.

“I heard you were in a firelight,” said Nathan Zimmer, the science writer, on my first day back at the office. I didn’t disabuse him of the idea. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

I demurred. Now that I’d been shot at, there was a flurry of interest in what I was working on, but I kept the story to myself.

To my relief, I soon received an e-mail from Dr. Kriss, and not only was it solicitous, reminding me to stay the course of antibiotics she’d prescribed against infection, but it included contact details for the Mimico subject. His name was Pavel Firea. She added that west-side Mimico was about as hazardous as the Tomahawk, if not worse.

After what happened, she wrote, I’ll understand if you don’t want to make the trip. Maybe ask someone else to go on your behalf?