After a long drive, with Bugs at the wheel, and Jones mostly asleep, they arrived back at Jones’s detective agency. After Jones checked the mailbox - there was nothing - he opened the door into the main vestibule. There, they found Agent Moss and Amelia standing toe to toe in an intense standoff. Amelia was shouting through clenched teeth.
“Yes,” Amelia insisted. “I work full time at this detective agency and it is my only source of income.”
She tugged at a curtain over the back window, attempting to hide the pallets of cheddar cheese stacked in the parking lot.
“Occasionally, I accept shipments for some of the business owners here in the strip mall when they’re not able to be present to sign for those deliveries themselves. That’s simply a neighborly courtesy. None of that diary belongs to me. So how could I possibly profit off of it?”
“How can this detective agency be your only source of income if the agency has no assets?” asked Agent Moss.
“It’s a very profitable agency. We have contracts with the Federal government.”
“I haven’t successfully collected a payment from a client in years,” said Jones.
The two women turned towards Jones, startled. Amelia recovered first.
“That’s why I keep the books,” sniffed Amelia. “You’re not qualified.”
“It looks like you’ve been using this agency as a front to launder money,” said Agent Moss.
“It looks like you don’t have a warrant,” Amelia snapped.
“Are we sure money laundering is still a crime?” asked Bugs.
Agent Moss glared at Jones. She had deep purple circles under her eyes.
“I have been trying to call you. What’s your progress on the case?”
“My phone died,” said Jones. “Also, I left it in Needles, California.”
Agent Moss blinked rapidly. She was breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Jones counted thirty-six breaths before she spoke again, spitting the words out in a flat, staccato rage.
“What. Is. Your. Progress. On. The. Case?”
Jones looked at Bugs, then Amelia. Neither of them would make eye contact.
“The quantum computer is not in Virtual Vegas, it’s not in the Mojave National Preserve, and it’s not in the town of Needles, California. Mad Crab does have it. Somewhere. I think it’s on a train.”
Agent Moss gritted her teeth. A muscle at the top of her collarbone jumped.
“Where do you think that ‘somewhere’ could be?”
Jones shrugged. Agent Moss threw back her head and groaned. “You should know that Marvin is very unhappy that you ditched him in the desert. He thinks he did something wrong. He has no concept of failure and burnout. You should have given him a heads up.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jones. “Please send him my apologies.”
Agent Moss shook her head, and sent one last dirty look in Amelia’s direction. “Keep working on it,” she said, and walked out.
“Thanks for leaving my best friend stranded in the desert!” Bugs called after her. “You’re welcome for spending my own gas money to help him get out!”
“Thank you,” said Jones. “I know gas is expensive right now.”
“Just passing it forward,” Bugs said, nodding at Amelia. “Grab a change of clothes. I should get back to the Society. They’re going to be worried.”