I waited in the thrift store across from the diner just as "Shooter" had instructed.  Two-o'clock came and went.  So much for these guys being punctual.  I had been looking through the same bin, over and over, because of it's proximity to the window.  The clerk of the store, some twenty-year-old weasel of a guy with bad acne, kept eyeing me from behind the counter against the far wall with a suspicion that would have been comical if I hadn't already been thoroughly bored with pretending to shop.

An hour of exclaiming to myself, "Oh, yes, a brown shawl!  Just what I need to cover myself on the park bench," and "The color of this purse will really bring out the pigeon **** on my shoes," was enough to drive me crazy.  But I wasn't and the laughter inside brought a little bit of healing to my soul.

He started for me but thankfully the phone rang and he went to answer.  I stared out the window trying to guess what "Shooter" looked like.

"Miss?"  He said and I turned.  The clerk held the receiver toward me. "Phone call."

The voice on the other end was soothing and calm.  A deep baritone that resounded with both beauty and command.  I listened carefully to his instructions and hung up the phone.

"Thank you," I said to the clerk and held out the receiver for him to take.  As he reached out his hand I grabbed his wrist with my left hand and began to beat him in the head with the receiver.  When he fell to the floor I took the lamp and smashed it over his head.  He lay in a heap just as the voice told me he would.  He also said my heart would race and to take some deep breaths as I headed for the back door. 

"You're being followed," he had said.  Do what I tell you and we'll get you to Shooter." 

I stuck my head out the back door and looked down the alley to my right.  Nothing.  I glanced to my left and saw an old woman in a wheelchair about fifteen feet away and heading my direction.  I started down the short stairway and turned right.

"Where are you going?" a man's voice called.  It had a familiar quality.  I turned and looked at the woman in the wheelchair.  Sure enough, as she stood up, the wig and the prop dress came off, and she became a he.  He smiled.  "Put these on and sit down!  I'm taking you for a roll before someone says 'Hey!'"

"You're funny,"  I said as I dressed the part of the old woman.

"You're cute." he replied, and shoved me into the chair.

"You've been locked up too long," I said pointedly.

"I've been out for three years, thank you!" he retorted, and headed to the right side of the alleyway.