“Gonzales asks, standing by the front door, hand on the nob, dressed in a black Stricken shirt, jeans and a pair of sleek black heels. “Yes, I’m positive. If she’s this close I have to see her. Even if it’s from a distance. I can’t go another however many months without at least the briefest of looks,” I explain, bent over, tucking my ankle knife into its holster and making sure it’s secured tightly in place. Gonzales and I are headed into the city to watch the Stricken concert as spectators. It... will be my first mingling with the crowd and not backstage. A week ago after yet another mental health evaluation; my fourth one, and another round of interrogation regarding the death of Dr.D. I caught downwind of the Stricken concert stopping in DC. Someone was chatting about it as I passed by, on my way out of the Pentagon. As soon as I left, I called up my good ol’ buddy Brewer and begged him. And I do mean begged him, to run interference somehow so I could go to that concert, and so I could call Davis and have him contact Claire.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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