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     In the dim heat that sifts through the brain as one battles with slowly flowing traffic::::that sense of being stuck, but moving::::absurd confinement within that hunk of metal symbol of freedom::::Dick is thinking of Slipper's desperation::::truly frightened, lost, world stood on end::::screaming hopelessness. And maybe he's innocent.
     Dick had given him twenty-six minutes to lay down his story::::then it was going to be Dick's turn in the bathroom. Given this limitation Slipper's sense of finally landing in a haven of hope vanished and the fear returned::::gathering himself like a salesman he hopped up, cast off the blanket and followed Dick into the kitchen::::then back out to the living room as Dick shook Nick awake, then into the den::::all the while formulating an abbreviated appeal for help::::his life depended on.
     Dick was sitting tapping into the group's forum when Slipper began.
     "Mothers Against Child Abuse in Media::::MACAM::::they said::::a phonecall::::gave me a web address, an email, even a land address::::outlined a case::::deposited $500 electronically. I went for it."
     "Boxhead hasn't replied::::and I'm not waking him."
     "Boxhead will vouch for me::::he set me up on Gadoo's team when they were having problems filtering their adult content last year::::did good work for them. Set 'em up with a bot::::whole shot. Big case, man::::$6000 I got for that."
     "Well?"
     "This mother said they had a lead on a Russian site, but they and theirs couldn't pin it down::::floating server, she said. So they decided to go outside::::said I was recommended::::even made the joke wondering if I were interested in doing it for charity, you know. I didn't ask about the rec. Gave me what info they had. Just pull the OEM once you break through::::and collect evidence. Gave me their email address. Deposited $500 into my account."
     "Didn't follow up? That's pretty amateur."
     "No."
     "Get a trace on the deposit?"
     "I'm without my bots! Can't do shit!"
     "The address? All of it?"
     "Wholly bogus, the lot."
     "Go on."
     "So I do it, you know. And, yeah, it wasn't cake::::this wasn't no top-list diver or shit::::a club::::on a floating server::::bounce thing::::two separate servers::::bounce, Unix to Windows, back::::Apachee encryption, then wires out to three redirects::::all in Russia, all legit. So I pop it, right? Have a bot do a dedicated raid on the second redirect, have to sift through layers and layers of pop-ups with the usual in/out smear. Way typical smut route. But I sensed a pattern out of it all, clicked through at least two hundred::::manually::::most leading down three levels, as they do::::nothing::::then hit upon this star smut thing::::weird to be down on this level, usually an upper thing, you know? And there was this little technical fault::::right there amongst the mundane. Repaired it::::took me there. Now, no one would go through all of this rigmarole, so what they probably do is shift in and repair the hole at certain concrete times::::so they can catch a few surfers now and again."
     "Life is short."
     "Yeah, well, simple SSL script and I'm in. Huge thing. Three times 3.6 gb and very very nasty stuff. I trap it and set a bot on it and suck out the evidence::::direct to my hard drive::::and the bot comes back with the OEM. Wasn't twenty minutes when suddenly there's a knock on my door. I don't get knocks on my door. I killed it and slipped out the back window and crawled through some yards and came out down the street. Sure enough::::feds, man. Smell 'em. And a fat marshal parked behind their sedan across the street from my place eating a donut or some shit. They fucking kicked-in my door. I ran. Been on the run two days now."
     "Well, they were physically on you when you were at the library."
     "Yeah, I know."
     "They're on you now."
     "No, no. I figured it out and ditched 'em. Really."
     "Had you. Why didn't they just walk up and snatch you?"
     "I don't know."
     "You a perv?"
     "I do work in the field::::pays good."
     "You a perv?"
     "Doesn't matter, does it?"
     "You run a micro-sun things, don't you?"
     "Yeah."
     "Even if it's clean, they can argue that you were setting to broadcast."
     "I know."
     "You're fucked."
     "It's fucked. I'm fucked."
     Pause.
     "If you're being wholly straight. Just got this load on your hard drive, and that's it, I'd turn myself in, tell 'em what you told me."
     "Fuck that! Once I'm in I can do nothing! Gotta trace that group down::::gotta figure this thing out!"
     "Lead back to them, I bet. Got your bots anyway."
     "I need help!"
     "I'm leaving town. Be back in a week or something. I'll talk it over with Boxhead. But I can't help you. Even if I weren't leaving wouldn't touch it::::sounds messy. Who'd want to set you up?"
     "I don't know. I've stepped on a few toes over the years."
     "Well. Feds themselves. Only way I see it. Means they gotta reason. Set up a sting like this, you bite, may be a bogus case, but they gotta have a reason behind it."
     "Don't do this to me!"
     "My turn in the bathroom. Nothing's ruining my trip. Best of luck."
     "Can't just leave me hanging!"
     "You broke a cardinal rule by coming here! I realize my identity is public::::but, coming here, shit!"
     "I'm desperate!"
     "I feel for ya::::if you're innocent. I'll be on line the whole time. Maybe lay low::::I don't know. Maybe spend some time at a cafe in some other state and download a bot and don't bother tweaking it::::trace that bank transfer. Check out that land address::::funny give. If it's fully feds, you'll find out pretty quick. Turn yourself in, or get a new life."
     "I want my life!"
     "The floating server may be involved::::a trap. If feds put something illegal up there to trap you, you can use that info to barter with. You're a tracker, right? Get on it. You don't need us. You've been in the game long enough to know the ropes. I'll be on-line. But open a false account if you're going to email me. I'm kinda pissed, dude::::you may have spoiled my house!"
     "I ditched 'em, I swear!"
     Dick is nearly out the room, turns back.
     "Overlay everything you send to me as, um, home improvements spam. If you're obvious, I filter you out."
     "Yeah."
     "What?"
     "I don't know where to go."
     "Ditch Cal, man. Don't go infecting relatives. You're a walking virus. You're a top-rate tracker, man. Figure it out."
     "I've got nothing!"::::almost crying.
     Dick goes over to his sweats and pulls out his wallet and takes out a crisp $100 bill.
     "That's it, dude."
     "Thanks."
     "Get out of here."
     "Yeah. Thanks."
     Dick left.

     Slipper saw Nick come out of the bathroom bleary-eyed and wet-faced. Dick shut the door. Some oriental dude was carrying metal suitcases out into the living room from a room down the hall. Went back for another.
     "Bye"::::Slipper announced to Nick, who wasn't interested. He then walked into the foyer and opened and closed the front door as if he'd gone out, hid himself in the coat closet behind the door::::'Stupid, stupid, stupid'::::he thought::::he wandered off into explanations of desperation, then quietly struggled with the coats and loose hangers::::got his feet in line so if it's a quick grab of something no one would discover him.

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