“Is there any chance,” he says evenly, “that you’ll come for a ride with me? My boss is interested in talking to you.”

She blinks. She gets nervous. “Why?” she asks.

“I can’t tell you. You’ll have to trust me.”

Janie takes a step back. The words ring familiar in her ears. She asked the same of him once. She deliberates.

“I’ll drive separately,” she says quietly.

4:45 p.m.

She follows his car to downtown Fieldridge. He turns into a large parking lot that serves the back entrances to the library, post office, police station, Frank’s Bar & Grille, the Fieldridge bakery, and a small fleet of high-rise apartments and condos. He drives into a parking space. She pulls in next to him. He walks toward the line of buildings and, using a key, enters an unmarked door. She follows him inside.

They go down a flight of stairs, and a room opens out in front of them, with a dozen partitioned offices and a separate office with a closed door.

Half a dozen people look up as they approach.

“Cabe.” They nod, one at a time. He nods in response, and knocks lightly on the door to the office. On the window, in black lettering, it says, “Captain Fran Komisky.”

The door opens. A bronze-haired woman urges them to come in. Her hair is cropped short, and it frames her brown skin. She’s wearing a black tailored skirt and jacket with a crisp white blouse. “Sit,” she says. They sit.

She sits behind her desk, which is littered with papers and has three phones and two computers resting on it.

The captain regards the two visitors for a moment. She rests her elbows on the desk, makes a tent with her fingers, and presses them against her mouth. Her eyes crinkle slightly with age. She lowers her hands.

“So. Ms. Hannagan, is it? I’m Fran Komisky. Everybody calls me Captain.” She leans over the desk and reaches for Janie’s hand. Janie slips forward in her seat to shake it.

“Pleased to meet you, Captain,” Janie says mechanically. She glances at Cabel. He’s looking at his lap.

“Likewise,” Captain says to Janie. “Cabe, you look like hell. Shall we get this thing straightened out?”

“Yes, sir,” Cabel says.

Janie looks up, wondering if Cabe means to call her that. It doesn’t seem to bother the captain.

“Janie,” she says in a tough voice. “Cabe here tells me he’d rather quit his job than lose you. Quite a young man he is, I must say. Anyway,” she continues, “since that announcement affects me greatly, I’ve invited you here to discuss this little problem. And you need to know that I’d rather lose my left leg than lose Cabe at this stage of the game.”

Janie swallows. Wonders what the hell is going on.

The captain looks at Cabe. “Cabe says you can be trusted with a secret. Is that true?”

Janie starts. “Yes, ma’am…sir,” she says.

Captain smiles. Breaks the tension a bit.

“So. You’re here because this dear boy has been lying to you, and I made him do it, and he’s afraid you won’t believe a word he says ever again. Ms. Hannagan, do you think you can believe me?”

Janie nods. What else can she do?

“Good. Somewhere I have a list of things I’ve jotted down, things I’m supposed to tell you, and I’ll trust that if you have further questions, Cabel can answer them for you. And you’ll believe him.”

It sounds like an order.

Captain pages through the pile of papers and slips on half-glasses. Her phone rings, and she reaches automatically for a button, silencing it. “Here we are. First.” She glances at Cabe, and then back at the paper. “Cabe is not ‘involved’ with Shay Wilder.” She looks up, peering over her glasses. “I can’t really prove that, Ms. Hannagan, but I’ve seen him nearly hurl after spending a recent evening with her. You good with that one?”

Janie nods. She feels like she’s in somebody’s weird dream.

“I said, are you good with that one?” Captain’s voice booms.

“Yes, sir,” Janie says. She sits up straighter in the chair.

“Good. Second. Cabe is not a drug dealer, pusher, liaison, user, and/or other in real life. He just plays one on TV.” She pauses, but doesn’t wait for a response this time.

“Third.” She sits back, sets the paper on the desk, and taps a pen against her teeth. “We’re this close”—she holds up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart—“to closing a major drug bust in North Fieldridge, up on the Hill. If this gets messed up because you whisper one word to anybody, and I mean anybody, I will hold you personally responsible, Ms. Hannagan. Besides Cabel and Principal Abernethy, you are the only one who knows about this. Are we clear?”

Janie nods, eyes wide. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Fine.” Captain turns to Cabe. Her face softens. Slightly.

“Cabel,” she says. “My dear boy. Are you with me or not? I need your head in the game. Now. Or this thing is shot to hell.”

Cabel glances at Janie, and waits. She startles. He’s leaving it up to her. She nods. He sits up straight in his chair, looks Captain in the eye. “Yes, sir, I’m in the game.”

Captain nods, and flashes an approving grin at both of them. “Good. Are we through here?”

Janie shifts uncomfortably.

And then she gives Cabel a haunting look.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and digs her fingernails into the chair’s armrests. 5:14 p.m.