"Yankee Stadium or the police morgue." I tried to sound flippant, but grief snagged my voice. "He's dead, Mouse."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?"

I nodded.

"Huh. Really?" I nodded again. He sighed, "I tell you, I'm off-line for eight hours and the whole universe changes. When did that happen? How?"

The image of Daniel's ashen face threatened to blur my vision. I shook my head and clipped my voice in order to keep my emotions in check. "Police sniper. Last night."

"No shit," Mouse breathed, standing up. "So it's over."

That sounded bad. "Over? What's over?"

"My archnemesis is dead."

"Daniel?"

Mouse frowned. "Of course, who else? He's the one who tripped that first alarm. He's the one who nearly brought me down a year ago. He's the bastard who broke into mouse.net last night." Something in my eyes must have made Mouse question his train of thought. He stared at me and then added, "Right?"

The barrel of the gun dipped toward the floor. Taking a quick half step out from the wall, I tossed the helmet at Mouse, underhand. My luck was off, but the helmet managed to knock Mouse's arm to the right, across his body. A bullet exploded from the gun. I felt the ejected, hot brass casing smack me in the arm.

A cascade of plaster dust and wood splinters fell around us. Though my ears were ringing, I rushed toward Mouse. He recovered quicker than I, and I'd only managed to take two steps before I was looking down the barrel of the gun.

"Oh, Deidre," Mouse said sadly. "I really liked you."

"I like you too, Mouse," I said.

The gun trembled in his hands. Mouse was sincere when he'd said he didn't want to kill me. I decided to call his bluff. "Do it already."

Mouse's mouth hung open at my taunting words. What the hell, I thought, either God wants me alive or dead.

"Come on, boy, pull the trigger," I said. "And do me a favor, will you?" I pointed to my abdomen. "Aim right here."

"You want to die?" Mouse's voice was a whisper.

"Live or die, it doesn't matter. You and your little cronies think they started the Second Coming, but yours is a hoax. I am the fucking Holy Mother." I let a hysterical laugh bubble up out of the tight place I kept my emotions.

Mouse's eyes were wide. I stepped forward until the gun pressed up against my chest.

"Stay back. I'm not afraid to shoot you," Mouse squeaked.

"Good. I'd hate for you to miss the mark, like so many of the other boys in my life."

I stood close enough to smell the leather and patchouli that was Mouse's scent. There was something oddly familiar about it: dangerous, but comfortable.

In a minute, I could put my hand on the gun ... or he would shoot me point-blank, either way the crisis would be resolved. I honestly wasn't sure which I preferred.

"You're crazy," Mouse whispered through clenched teeth. His eyes narrowed as he took aim.

I nodded; oblivion was a pleasant option. I shut my eyes, and waited.

Excerpt from Letourneau's main page. August 25, 2076

"Martyrdom, Deidre?" A familiar voice drawled, "Doesn't really seem your style, somehow."

I opened my eyes to see Morningstar's hand over the hammer of the pistol. Mouse's brown face looked gray, but he still held on to the gun with whitened knuckles.

"Allah protect me," Mouse said.

Morningstar said something in another language – judging from Mouse's expression, it was probably Arabic. Though I didn't understand Morningstar's words, the tone was clearly a warning.

Mouse's eyes narrowed. Straightening his back, he asked, "Oh yeah? And who the fuck are you?"

"My deus ex machina, apparently." I sighed, my shoulders relaxing. "Interesting timing, Morningstar."

"Morningstar? The Mafia guy?" Mouse asked. The two of them were a study in contrast: Morningstar in his Armani suit and Mouse in his ragged street clothes.

"I'm surprised the two of you don't know each other," I said.

"Do we look like we hang out in the same circles?" Morningstar said, wrestling the gun from Mouse with a sudden jerking motion. He pointed the barrel at Mouse, "Run back to your hole, little rodent. The lady and I have things to discuss."

Having regained his composure, Mouse's eyes narrowed as though he were considering the merits of Morningstar's demand.

"What are you waiting for?" Morningstar flicked the gun in a shooing motion. "Get your tail in gear."

"Okay." Mouse shrugged. He rested one hand on the doorknob to my office. "Just let me get my things."

"There's someone in there," I said, certain.

A cold smile spread across Mouse's lips. "An ambush? You must really think the worst of me. I just want my duffel bag."

Morningstar snapped his arm taut, and the gun hovered inches from Mouse's face. "I don't remember offering you a choice," Morningstar said. "But, I will now: go or die."

Mouse raised his hand off the doorknob and lifted both arms in surrender. "No problem," he said, backing up. "I'm gone."

"Good," Morningstar said with a sneer. "I never liked rats."

Mouse nodded. His lips pressed tight, as though he wanted to trade insults, but thought better off it. To me he said, "We'll finish what we started, Dee."

"I don't think so, Mouse," I said flatly. "Apparently God has other plans for me, and He wants me alive."

"Insh'allah," Mouse said, reaching the door. Our eyes stayed locked until he slipped behind the oak panel and out into the street.

I glanced at Morningstar. "Michael was supposed to be close at hand. How'd you end up here?"