"Just sitting and waiting for the phone to ring"
-- Thomas Dolby, Silk Pajamas

I couldn't see the clock when my phone rang, but it was sometime in the morning. I could see daylight though the curtains. It was Ray's home number. They must have made it back. If you drive it straight, it's about a 14-hour drive from LA to Portland.

"Quinn?" he said. His voice was low.

"Yes," I answered.

"Sorry to wake ya man," he said, "but I figured you wanted to know we got back"

"Thanks, Ray," I told him.

I felt some of the tension drain from me.

"I drove all the way back," he said. "I'm ready to crash. Becks is...OK, she's asleep right now."

"Did you dispose of the thing I gave you?" I asked. I wasn't going to mention the gun over the phone.

"Ummm," it took Ray a moment to realize what I was talking about. He wasn't used to this kind of thing. "Oh yeah, made sure to clean it, then we dumped it in a..."

"I don't need to know where," I cut him off.

"Gotcha." He said. "Look, Becks is really mad at you."

"I know," I said.

It's not like it was news to me. I had been there for her last outburst.

"I mean really mad," he said. "This is worse than after you left."

"Is she mad at you too?" I asked.

I didn't really care about the answer. I just wanted to change the subject.

"You'd think," he sounded amazed, "but she ain't. She says I did the right thing. She's gonna stay here with me for a week."

"Two weeks would be better," I said.

"Yeah," he said.

"But look," he said, "she's wrong. I was just gonna do the same thing. So if it was OK for me, then you were doing the right thing."

"Thanks, Ray," I said.

It didn't really count for much, but he was making an effort. I appreciated that.

"Quinn," he said, "she wouldn't be this mad if she didn't care about you."

It was an unusually insightful thing for him to say. I didn't really want to hear it.

"Ray, you've got a second chance with Becks if you want it," I told him. "If you don't, then don't play her. She deserves better than that. And Ray?"

"Yeah" he said.

He hadn't cut me off, so I hoped he would take it to heart.

"If you do want it, then don't screw it up this time." I said, "One of these days Becks will stop giving you another chance. So if you want to be with her, then be with her. OK?"

I didn't wait for an answer, disconnected, and went back to sleep.

When I woke up, it was the afternoon. I found a robe in the closet and put it on. I had the urge to open the curtains and let in the light, but kept them closed. I found the room service menu, and called down for lunch. Considering I had missed a total of four meals since my last, I ordered two lunches. I was hungry enough to eat them both and more.

When the food arrived, I crawled back in bed and settled down to eat and watch the television. I found a classic movie station and came in at the beginning of Modern Times. It's my favorite of Chaplin's films, made at the time when silent films were in decline and sound was on the rise. It's fascinating to see how he integrated sound into the silent movie experience. The Tramp even sings a song, though the lyrics are all nonsense words. I couldn't agree with his dystopian view of technology though.

The industrial age and what followed didn't create a workers paradise, but I am not so naïve to think that the older agrarian world was any better. Technologies don't make our world better or worse -- they are just tools. What matters is how they are used, and the societies we make with them. Still the movie is brilliant.

I laid low -- hid -- in my room for another day. I had my meals sent up. I listened to music. I worked out. I watched movies. It drove me nuts. I had done it for longer periods before, but this time felt different. There were the resources of the city out there, waiting for me. I could feel a shift in my world-view. It was time to rebuild my life. The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. I just hadn't known how large the first one was going to be when I took it.

I eventually cracked open the laptop and spent some time searching to see how much attention my misadventures had made. There was nothing obvious, no 72-point headline in the LA Times that proclaimed "Vance Arrested! Public Safe At Last!" No matter how important he was to me, or Becks, or even himself. He was nothing more than minor player in the game. He wouldn't rank a footnote in the histories. Neither would I, but that was the way I preferred it.

I did find a small piece about a fire in a historic building in LA. The neighborhood was right for The Falconer, though it wasn't mentioned by name. Arson was suspected. Authorities were investigating. The actual article wasn't much longer than the summary. I felt a twinge of regret about what I had done to the building. People come and go. Some leave more of an echo than others. In the end, individuals matter only to themselves. The Romans believed that you secured your place in history with the works you left behind. Vance reaped what he sowed, but the building was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I searched deeper and found a reference to four men arrested in the same area. That was too large a group to keep a secret for very long. They'd separate them and work on them individually. Find the discrepancies, and work the psychology. Under pressure, at least one of them would roll on Vance. I just had to hope that it did not bring too much attention to me. No matter. When -- if -- it came, I'd deal with it.

My bigger concern was that only four people were mentioned. That could mean that Vance or one of the Boys got away. That was worrisome. Vance wouldn't know where to find me, and Becks was with Ray, but he did know where to find Betty. He also knew that we were connected. I found the number for the RadSkull. It was the only way I knew to contact her.

"RadSkull," a voice answered.

"Is Betty there yet?" I asked.

"No," the voice answered. "She won't be in till later."

"I need to get a message to her," I said.

"Shoot." The voice told me.

I thought for a moment how to phrase the warning. I wanted something she would understand, but wouldn't tell too much to anyone else.

"Tell her that Quinn says that 'V' may still be in play." I said. "Yes, the letter 'V.' Tell her that 'V' may still be in play, and to watch herself." I added my number to the message.

"OK. Got it," The voice said, sounding a little dubious at my message.

"Thanks." I hung up.

It didn't feel like it was enough. Unless she called back or I went out into the world, track her down, and talk to her in person, it was the most I could do.