Ahead, amid laughter and loud banter, the troops were piling into Nat’s truck, except for Mike. He sprinted back and got in next to Curt. In the middle of the lawn were two still, supine figures.

“Hey, cool move with the fuzzmobile!” Mike shouted while looking back through the rear window at the crushed front of the cop car. The geyser had abated. Now the engine just steamed in the glare of the car’s still functioning revolving lights.

Curt didn’t say anything. He pulled forward, then braked alongside Nat’s vehicle. “Listen, you clowns,” he snapped after the windows had come down. “No stops, drive the speed limit, and go directly to the White Pride for a debriefing! Got it?”

“Got it,” Nat answered amid more laughter.

Curt accelerated, shaking his head in frustration. The whole operation was like a comedy movie that wasn’t funny.

“The cop car looks like it’s going to catch on fire,” said Mike. Curt glanced at the vehicle and was going to explain that the smoke was merely steam from the coolant coming in contact with the hot manifold when he caught his troops’final stupid move of the night. Instead of pulling forward, Nat backed up so that he ran over the prone policeman. Curt winced. He didn’t regard local sheriffs as the enemy the way he did federal agents or city police.

Mike faced forward when Curt turned west at the next intersection, heading back toward the city. “I know why Kevin and Luke took after those two fags,” he said.

“Sure you do,” Curt mumbled irritably and without particular interest. No matter what the explanation, Curt was planning on giving Kevin and Luke one hell of a dressing-down when they got back to base. Disobeying orders, even implied orders, was not to be tolerated.

“They were a mixed couple,” Mike said. “One of them was a paleface, the other was a nigger, and the bastards were holding hands.”

“No wonder!” Curt’s change of heart was genuine. Queer miscegenators. He immediately understood how provocative such a situation would have been.

Yuri’s eyes blinked open. He sat up from where he’d fallen asleep on the couch. He wasn’t sure what had awakened him. He looked at his watch. It was a little after one in the morning. The sound of the TV drifted through Connie’s closed door.

With a few choice Russian expletives, Yuri lifted his feet from the couch and slipped them into his slippers. Since driving the cab required early-morning rising, Yuri always went to bed early. Consequently, he had no idea of Connie’s bedtime habits other than knowing she stayed up later than he did. Yet after one was later than he’d imagined she stayed up. There was a good chance she’d fallen asleep without having enjoyed her butter pecan ice cream.