Although stepping onto the neatly manicured grounds of a college campus brought back some unpleasant memories of work and of D.C., Sam was surprised to feel an overriding sense of freedom. A relief that he wasn’t the one stuck working there. That role fell onto his old college friend, David Allen, now law professor at Gulf A&M. All these students surrounding Sam were David’s problem. And a problem they were, indeed. Sam could hear it a half mile away, the dull crowd noise that became roaring chants as Sam approached. As he stepped into the center courtyard, distinct words emerged like “patriarchy” and “hate speech,” and then a little sing-song about white cis-gendered fascism and other cheery jingles to that effect. Sam knew them all. His own campus back in D.C. had been inundated by these same warriors for social justice. The group at George Washington University seemed no different, hundreds of them, right down to the thick-framed glasses, Che Guevara t-shirts and gray-blue hair. Here they had amassed themselves into a human chain, linking arms and blocking the wide center stairway for the campus library. Students would have to walk around to the side entrance. Somehow this made for a more fair, just university.

Sam walked in the other direction, moving quite happily away from the demonstration and toward a cluster of law buildings at the edge of the campus. He walked into the older-looking one, a four-story red-brick lined with ivy. And inside, thankful for the quiet, Sam looked up the directory placard and followed its directions to room 212. He knocked three times on the cracked-open door, his other hand holding the handle so that it wouldn’t shut by the force of his greeting. That greeting’s answer came in the form of a grumpy professor, his voice muffled into some book or another. “And could you please shut that door?” he said nasally. “Office hours just ended.”

Sam knew the feeling. Those fleeting moments of privacy and quiet, of anything but the questions, demands, and sometimes the tears of students. He was a little surprised no one had followed and tracked him down across the country. Yet. Forget his email. He hadn’t checked his school account in over a week. Maybe he’d never check it again.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Sam said in his best meek student voice through the crack in the door.

“Then don’t.”

Sam held back a laugh. “But sir, it’s rather important.” He took a breath and summoned up his best pathetic tone. “My mom is here with me and—”

“Who the hell is it?” David sounded angry now.

Sam opened the door and grinned at his old friend. The professor was, as he imagined, hunched over his desk, a pencil stuck into his thick hair, with that look of squint-eyed annoyance at yet another intrusion.

“Sam?” The annoyance flashed away and he was standing and smiling. The expression looked a little strange on his face, as if anything but a scowl didn’t fit. “Sam,” he said again, marching over and shaking his hand, pulling him into a back-thumping hug. “What the hell’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“I came to extend your office hours.”

David laughed. “No thanks.” He moved quickly, shutting the door behind them.

“You look good, Dave.”

“Thanks,” Dave said, rolling his eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re not bald yet.”

Dave frowned. He tipped his head forward so that the pencil fell out into his hand. “You know I have that love-hate relationship with stress. I hate it. And it just loves me to death.”

“That’s how I feel about my school.” Sam took a seat opposite the law professor. “I’m currently on the run.”

“Playing hooky? Why New Orleans?”

“It started out as a work trip. My other job.”

Dave flashed him a confused look.

“Just some private detective stuff on the side,” Sam side. “But, uh, to be honest, I’m getting stick of the whole thing. Even coming here was sort of traumatizing.”

“You didn’t get savaged by the mob out there, right? They’ve been at it since 9 a.m.”

“No. I got savaged back at GW. So I’ve learned my lesson. There’s no debating with . . . them.”

“Us and them, huh?”

Sam sighed and said, “I don’t know, Dave. The country’s really gone to shit. And it’s not even about the people. It’s the . . . the whole . . .”

“Sounds like you’re dissatisfied with the pillars of our society. The schools, the government.” He chuckled a little. “The money?”

“Well, that’s just it. I’m getting paid well enough with my side job that I can probably quit teaching.”

“So you’re a private detective? That sounds pretty exciting.”

“Yeah . . .”

“More exciting than this shit, I bet.”

Sam shrugged a polite hell yes as Dave brushed aside a stack of file folders.

“What do you do?” Dave started closing up his books, stacking his papers. “Better yet, what the hell are you doing here? Not that I mind the interruption.”

“We’re more of a cybersecurity firm, really. I guess you could say that I take care of the human element.” Sam looked at his friend, who still had that perplexed look on his face. “The rest of the guys are hackers, tech heads. Except when they get out from behind the screen. I’m not the only former military guy. We work in the real world, too.”

“You mean with guns and grenades?”

“More of the former, but yeah.” Sam shrugged. He preferred to deal with intellect wherever possible, but he couldn’t deny there were times when his military training was infinitely useful. “We’re a boutique paramilitary, basically.”

Dave was smiling for some reason.

“I initially came down here to help a colleague out. During one of their investigations, they had a little run-in with a biker gang, and I guess they wanted me around to spot them in the crowd.”

Dave snorted. “Spot them in the crowd during Bike Week?”

“I wasn’t looking for bikers as much as I was looking for bad intentions. I can spot those from a mile away.” Sam looked around the room. There was a particular disorder to the place, unlike the Dave he knew. There was a row of full wastebaskets pushed up against the wall. Whatever couldn’t fit was strewn around them in small clusters of paper and packing plastic. “You got the janitors protesting, too?”

Dave kept his eyes on Sam. “Tell me more about this mission of yours.”

“Well, that’s it. It’s all pretty much wrapped up. Now, I’m basically trying to find excuses to stay away from D.C. Think you can help me out?”

“Sure. Break the law and I’ll be your lawyer. I’ll make sure you get a nice, long sentence in Orleans Parish Prison.”

“Is that the kind of performance that got you out of practicing?”

“No, that was my wife.” He pointed to his hair. “She convinced me. She wanted the hair to stay.”

“Great hair, Dave.”

“You joked about professor life being tough, but back when I was actually practicing, it was falling out in clumps. Maybe that’s what happens when you only get four hours of sleep every night.”

“That and a divorce, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, she warned me about that, too.” Dave leaned back and kicked his feet up over a messy desk. “So, what do you need?”

“Your research skills.”

Dave groaned. “Come on, I don’t do research anymore. Talk to my interns. Better yet, get a paralegal. They’re cheap. Dying for work. Fuck, most of them have their J.D.s now.”

“I need your access to case law.”

“What case?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

He groaned again. “Why couldn’t you just come here and ask me out for beers? I haven’t seen you in six years and here you are bringing me work.”

“We’ll still do beers.”

“I’ll need a lot to get motivated. What’s the area?”

“Huh?”

“Area of law.”

“Criminal.”

Dave just rolled his eyes.

“Federal? It has to do with crossing state lines.”

“Sounds like fun,” Dave said.

“Yeah?”

Dave sat motionless. “Yeah, I’ll get right on it.”

“Okay, and there’s one other thing.”

“Sure.”

“I was wondering if it would be possible to check if someone’s paying child support. And if not, why not?”

“That’s an easy one,” Dave said, sitting upright and waking up the desktop computer. “It’s just a records search. You could have done that.”

“I don’t know the father’s name.”

Dave chuckled. “Do you know the mother’s name?”

“Clara Miles. Daughter is Molly.”

Dave moved and clicked his mouse, waited for a page to load, and then started typing.

“Ever do lunch beers?” Sam asked. “I can take you out right now. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“I can see that,” Dave said, still focused on his work, concentrating, his face tight with it. And then his face suddenly softened.

“What is it?”

“Hold on,” Dave said curtly. He started typing, and a minute later he turned to Sam and said, “Kurtis Brevic has been ordered to pay child support by the state of Louisiana. But he hasn’t, because he’s currently held by the state of Louisiana.”

“Jail?”

Dave nodded. “Assault and battery.”

Sam’s mind immediately leapt to the most dramatic, horrific, and infuriating conclusion. Had the bastard laid his hands on Clara? He shouldn’t overact without all the facts, he knew that. But he also knew that for all his logic, somewhere deep inside was an illogical, vengeful caveman.

“But don’t worry,” Dave said. “He’ll be paying soon. He’s getting released in a week.”