Fireman said, “Your table is ready.”

That was great news. Claire and I made our way through the bar, which was filling up rapidly, passed the pickup window, and crossed into the back room. We slipped into the red leatherette booth we considered our own and sat opposite each other.

Lorraine checked in with us and brought sparkling water, and within a couple of minutes Yuki arrived, looking like she’d had a full-body massage and a mani-pedi.

“So damned great to see you,” she said to Claire, sliding in beside her. “What’s it been? Couple of decades?”

“Couple of weeks, Yuki, dear. All’s well. I was just telling Lindsay it’s checkups for a while, but Dr. Terk blew the all-clear whistle and said I’m free to go.”

Yuki hugged Claire and said, “We missed you. When are you coming back to work?”

“Soon. Going to try something new. Sleep late. Play with my little girl. Listen to music. I told the powers that be not to expect to see my shadow until Groundhog Day.”

Ha. Groundhog Day had passed, but never mind the details.

Yuki asked where Cindy was, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure she was coming. And if she came, were we buddies again?

I said, “Why don’t I go first. Cindy knows all about the firefight in Silver Terrace.”

“You go, girl,” said Claire.

I filled my friends in on the whole fandango, condensing a bit so that Susie’s didn’t close up for the night while I was still talking. Yuki was following so closely, it was like she was taking notes.

“Does Barkley have a lawyer?” she asked.

“All I know is that he asked for one. And he made no statement at all.”

“That’s too bad,” said Claire. “How’re you gonna pin any of those murders on him? No witnesses. No forensics. What?”

“Guy by the name of Marty Floyd,” I said. “He’s not military. He says he never shot anyone, but he knows Moving Targets like the back of his dog.”

I explained that Randi was in the women’s jail, not talking, but Marty Floyd had spent eight consecutive hours with Mike Stempien, who now could decode Moving Targets.

“When Stempien goes back to the FBI next week, he’s going to be the man of the hour, the week, and maybe the year,” I said. “Here’s hoping there’s going to be a clean sweep of Moving Target shooters on both coasts.”

I ducked my head and whispered, “We gave Cindy the exclusive story. Here she comes.”