When he’d finished, Leo’s sprung back into life. It was as if he had announced Black Friday was being extended. A roar of excited chatter rose and filled the place as clattering plates and relieved laughter created harmony. Midge delivered our now slightly cold meals and apologized. Naturally we understood, that’s just the type of good Americans we were. More than anything else, though, the truly frightening thing about it was the sense of normalcy. The president of the United States had just announced the end of American jurisprudence, and people in a typical American diner in a typical American town responded by asking for another slice of that delicious lemon meringue pie.

Laura and I kept our voices low, leaning across the table in conversation as we ate. We laid out a panoply of options, none of them especially great. The counterman had turned down the sound again as talking heads began earnestly discussing the speech. “Put the game back on,” someone shouted, and Dusty clicked through the channels until he found it.

It was almost nine o’clock when we were ready to leave. We’d decided to drive through the night to get to Buffalo. We would try to make contact with the resistance there. Laura paid our bill in cash. As we approached Van, I told Cher to open the side panel. The ramp extended and lowered to street level. “Want me to drive?” Laura asked.

“That’s all right, it’s easier for me.” I rolled into the driver’s tracks and locked Mighty Chair into place. Laura climbed into the passenger seat, adjusted her seat belt, and placed her tablet on the dashboard. I turned on the engine and put Van in reverse. Warning bells indicating something was behind me chimed rapidly. I glanced at the screen.

Two police officers were standing in the night haze of the rear camera. They were standing legs apart, holding their extended weapon with both hands, pointing at Van. “What the…” I said, then started pounding the wheel. “Fuck!”

The night exploded into red and yellow swirling lights. Four police cars squealed to a halt, trapping us in Leo’s Own parking lot. Searchlights lit up the area brighter than an August afternoon. I could see police officers scrambling in every one of my mirrors. A bullhorned voice ordered, “You are under arrest. Do not move. Everybody in the van come out with your hands raised.” I buried my face in my palm, took a long, hard deep breath, and smiled wanly at Laura. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh god,” she said. She laid a hand on her chest. “Oh my god.”

I took several measured breaths, trying to gain control. I put a hand on Laura’s wrist. “It’ll be okay.” Then I shifted into park.

Seconds later Van’s side-panel door slid open and the ramp extended. In those yellow searchlights it probably looked like a scene out of Close Encounters. I drove Chair down onto the parking lot gravel. Laura followed me out. The spotlights blinded us both, but we kept our hands raised. Somebody shouted, “Get on the ground!” I shaded my eyes and looked into the blinding lights and shrugged helplessly. Softly I said, “Cher, turn off.” The less they knew about Chair’s capabilities, the better it was for us. Laura laid down on the gravel, her arms extended. I kept my hands high in the air. They came out from behind the protection of their vehicles.