Dexter is not delusional; he knows better than most that “fair” is a relatively new and stupid idea. Life is not fair, can never be fair, shouldn't even pretend to be fair, and so humans invented the idea to try to level the playing field and make things a little more challenging for the predators. And that's fine. Personally, I welcome the challenge.

But although Life is not fair, Law and Order was supposed to be. And the idea that Doncevic might go free while Deborah wasted away in a hospital just seemed so very, kind of —all right, I will say it: it wasn't fair. I mean, I am sure there are other available words here, but Dexter will not dodge merely because this truth, like most others, was a relatively ugly one. I felt a sharp sense of not-fairness to the whole thing, and it made me ponder what I might do to set things back in their proper order.

I pondered through several hours of routine paperwork and three cups of somewhat horrible coffee. And I pondered through a below average lunch at a small place claiming to be Mediterranean, which was only true if we accept that stale bread, clotted mayonnaise and greasy cold cuts are Mediterranean. Then I pondered through another few minutes of pushing things around on the desk in my little cubby.

It occurred to me after all this pondering that my once-powerful brain was not functioning at its former dizzying heights. In fact, it was barely functioning at all. Perhaps the interlude in Paris had softened it. More likely, though, it had grown feeble from the long forced absence from its favorite pastime, my own personal form of sudoku, finding and flensing the wicked unpunished. It had been far too long since I'd had a Dexter's Night Out, and I was quite sure the resulting tension was causing my current feeble-mindedness. If I had been firing on all my dark cylinders I like to believe I would have seen the obvious a great deal sooner.

But finally, somewhere in the distant fog of Dexter's diminished brainscape a small and faint gong sounded a tiny tinny note. “Bong” it said softly, and murky light slowly flooded into Dexter's Dim Noggin.

It may seem difficult to believe that it took so long for the wicked nickel to drop, but I can only say that it had been too long and I was tired, and out of sorts from the very bad lunch. Once the nickel did, in fact, drop, it dropped very smoothly and well and with a delightful sound of solid and pleasing chimes.

I had been scolded for being not very helpful, and I believe that I had been feeling the truth of that accusation. Dexter had not, in fact, been helpful; he had been sulking in the car when Debs was hurt, and he had failed to protect her once again from the attack of the shiny-headed lawyer.

But there was a way I could be very very helpful, and it was something that I was particularly good at. I could make a whole handful of problems go away: Deborah's, the department's, and my own very special ones, all at the same time with one smooth stroke or several choppy ones, if I was feeling particularly playful. All I had to do was relax and be wonderful special Me, while helping poor deserving Doncevic to see the error of his ways.

I knew Doncevic was guilty -1 had seen him stab Deborah with my own eyes. And so it followed that there was also a very good chance he had killed and arranged the bodies that were causing such an uproar and harming our vital tourist economy. Disposing of Doncevic was practically my civic duty. Since he was out on bail, if he turned up missing, everyone would assume he had run. The bounty hunters would make a stab at finding him, but no one would care when they failed.

I felt a very strong satisfaction with this solution: it's nice when things can work out so nicely, and the neatness of it appealed to my inner monster, the tidy one that likes to see problems properly bagged up and thrown away. Besides, it was only fair.

Wonderful: I would spend some quality time with Alex Doncevic.

I began by checking online to see his status, and re-checking every fifteen minutes when it became clear that he was about to be released. At 4.32 his paperwork was in its final stages, and I moseyed down to the parking lot and drove over to the front door of the detention center.

I got there just in time, and there were plenty of people there ahead of me. Simeon really knew how to throw a party, especially if the press were involved, and they were all there waiting in a huge, unruly mob, the vans and satellite dishes and beautiful haircuts all competing for space. When Doncevic came out on Simeon's arm there was a clatter of cameras and the multiple thud of many elbows trying to clear a way, and the crowd surged forward like a pack of dogs pouncing on raw meat.

I watched from my car as Simeon made a long and heartwarming statement, answered a few questions, and then pushed through the crowd towing Doncevic with him. They got into a black Lexus SUV and drove away. After a moment, I followed.

Following another car is relatively simple, particularly in Miami, where there is always traffic, and it always acts irrationally.

Since it was rush hour, it was even worse. I just had to stay back a bit, leaving a couple of cars between me and the Lexus. Simeon did nothing to show that he thought he was being followed. Of course, even if he spotted me he would assume I was a reporter hoping for a candid shot of Doncevic weeping with gratitude, and Simeon would do nothing more than make sure his good side was to the camera.

I followed them across town to North Miami Avenue, and dropped back a little as they turned onto NE 40th Street. I was fairly confident I knew where they were going now, and sure enough, Simeon pulled over in front of the building where Deborah had first met my new friend Doncevic. I drove past, circled the block once, and came back in time to see Doncevic get out of the Lexus and head into the building.

Happily for me, there was a parking spot where I could see the door. I pulled into it, turned off the engine, and waited for darkness, which would come as it always did, to find Dexter ready for it. And tonight, at last, after such a long and dreary stay in the daytime world, I was ready to join with it, revel in its sweet and savage music, and play a few chords of Dexter's own minuet. I found myself impatient with the ponderous, slowly sinking sun, and eager for the night. I could feel it stretching out for me, leaning in to spread through me, flexing its wings, easing the knots out of the too-long unused muscles and preparing to spring My phone rang.

“It's me” said Rita.

“I'm sure it is” I said.

I think I have a really good —what did you say?”

“Nothing” I said. “What's your really good?”

“What?” she said. “Oh —I've been thinking about what we said.

About Cody?”

I pulled my mind back from the pulsing darkness I had been feeding and tried to remember what we had said about Cody. It had been something about helping him come out of his shell, but I did not remember that we had actually decided anything beyond a few vague platitudes designed to make Rita feel better while I carefully placed Cody's feet on the Harry Path. So I just said, “Oh, right. Yes?” in the hope of drawing her out just a bit.

I was talking to Susan? You know, over on 137th? With the big dog” she said.

“Yes” I said. I remember the dog.” As indeed I did —it hated me, like all domestic animals do. They all recognize me for what I am, even if their masters do not.

“And her son, Albert? He's been having a really positive experience with the Cub Scouts. And I thought that might be just right for Cody”

At first the idea didn't make any sense at all. Cody? A cub scout?

It seemed like serving cucumber sandwiches and tea to Godzilla.

But as I stammered for a reply, trying to think of something that was neither outraged denial nor hysterical laughter, I actually caught myself thinking that it was not a bad idea. It was, in fact, a very good idea that would mesh perfectly with the plan to make Cody fit in with human children. And so, caught halfway between irritated denial and enthusiastic acceptance, I quite distinctly said, “Hi didda yuh-kay”