Jones woke to a mechanical coughing sound. He pulled himself off the floor and peeked out the window. A familiar green produce truck rumbled into the motel parking lot. It was Bugs. Jones scanned the room, checking for anything he wanted to take with him. His eyes alighted on the printouts, his phone, the bitcoin, and the Virtual Vegas engineer’s notebook. He grabbed the notebook and ran outside to meet his friend.
Bugs rolled down the window. They high-fived. “Where to now?” Bugs asked. “Do you know the address of that quantum mechanic?”
Jones shook his head. “I’m done with this case. It’s impossible to solve. The prisons are closed. I’m uncomfortable. The Feds have nothing on me. Let’s go home.”
Bugs shrugged and unlocked the door. Jones hopped in the passenger seat.
“What a mess,” Bugs said.
Jones nodded in agreement. “Mad Crab is out of control.”
“I mean your shirt,” said Bugs. “It’s covered in stains. You didn’t pack a change of clothes?”