The thing about plans is that they never go according to plan. The FBI finally came through and used their superpowers for good the old-fashioned way…they tracked Quinn, AKA Julius Clemmons, through Thai Dinh’s cell phone. He’d been holed up with Thug from Chuck Puckett’s funeral, AKA Garvis Beets, in a swanky hotel on some unsuspecting person’s credit card. Quinn had been waiting for Dinh to contact him to tell him that he’d completed the job. The wuss.

Turns out Super Agent and I had overheard Quinn arguing with Beets at Chuck Puckett’s funeral. On the rare occasion I’d actually spoken to Quinn, he didn’t have an accent. The sneaky, fake bastard. If it hadn’t been for that damn on-again off-again Boston accent I might’ve recognized his voice and the whole sordid business of me being shot at, my apartment being burned, and my near abduction, would’ve been avoided.

I had begged Super Agent for two minutes alone with Quinn. All of this was Quinn’s fault. Super Agent had twisted sideways, instinctually protecting his family jewels and told me in no uncertain terms, “No.”

We were finally alone in one of those hotel rooms with kitchenettes in downtown Scottsdale that would be my home until I could find other, less-blackened accommodations.

“You can stay here as long as you need to,” Super Agent told me. “Until you’re back on your feet.”

“Thanks. I guess. I’m not really sure how long that will be. I have some savings, enough to cover the deposit on a new place but not enough to replace everything I lost.”

“There was a reward on an old case involving Thai Dinh. About 50K. I can see if I can get it expedited for you. You earned it.”

“Hot damn. I won’t have to borrow my brother’s DNA-filled futon from college.”

“I did what I could, but you might have to face the reduced charge of disturbing a crime scene. For, ah, kicking the senator.”

“I’ll deal with it. Can I ask you a favor?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Can you make sure that the press doesn’t get wind of Chuck Puckett’s…you know…proclivities?”

“That’s important to you?”

“Yes. I feel like I owe him. I got so much wrong with him. I want to try and put things right somehow.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

He shifted back and forth, jingling his pockets. He was nervous. That was so not like him. But then I was nervous too. The time had come to say goodbye. There was no reason to spend any more time together…unless we wanted to.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into the satchel he’d brought with him from the car.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but the fat accordion file he plopped down in front of me was not even close.

“It’s a copy of my FBI personnel file. Everything you’d ever need to know about me is in there. I’m not even supposed to have it. I pulled in a favor from a friend. It’s classified, so you should burn it when you’re done.” He nudged it toward me.

I touched a finger to it, tracing invisible circles over its blandness. He already knew everything there was to know about me. If I read this file, there’d be nothing left for me to learn about him. We’d be even.

He laid down his business card on the table next to the file with some extra phone numbers and email addresses scrawled on it. “Here’s my contact info. All of it. My home address is in the file.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Will you go out with me this Friday night?” he asked. “There’s a new restaurant off Main that serves cheeseburgers twenty-three different ways, including a bacon cheeseburger with peanut butter and jelly. I checked.”

I looked up at him and I knew there was no way I could walk away from what he was offering. Cheeseburger or no.

“I’ll go out with you on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

I handed the file back. “Burn this yourself.”