Adelman wants me back, but I told her to take a powder. Tijuana Muck offered me a job and it pays better than the Rag ever did, so I’ll be moving south of the border, down Mexico way.
If you’re worried about Sammy, you can save your concern for someone else. He’ll be fine. I’ll be going back and forth between Mexico and New York, and Munoz and Lynch promise they’ll keep an eye on things. Besides, his BZRK pals are coming out of the woodwork now that the brainwave interceptor gadget is safe.
I feel bad the sisters aren’t around to see that their brother is a hero. Davis got the gadget stashed safe and sound before he went off his nut, and the world owes him its thanks. What became of Sophie and Sylvie? I don’t know. I hope the ending turns out to be happy, but I wouldn’t count on it.
The story of Lear, Sam, BZRK, Nexus, the Morgensteins, and the rest has been quite a journey. After all that, I’m looking forward to reporting on your average, run-of-the-mill drug violence.
I’m not getting any younger. I could use the rest.
Your old pal,
Sam still isn’t saying much. He’s pretty shook up and trying to finish that comic book he started about yours truly. He says he’s waiting on the ending. Something about a big event at a bus terminal taking place tonight.
My old boss over at the Rag has been making overtures. Someone sent her the login for the AmericaStrong site and she understands that I didn’t hack anyone’s phone. It’s against my ethics. Yes, I do have ethics, believe it or not.
“Tijuana Muck” didn’t want an item that came my way, and I’m not ready to hit the “Rag” again, but here it is: a woman named Patricia Lynson shot herself in the head near the Esalen Institute in Big Sur. What makes this unusual for a suicide case? Well for starters, hippies don’t tend to off themselves. For seconds, she was a former Nexus Humanus member who started an anti- Nexus Humanus campaign. Last, she was shot in the back of the head.
How many suicide cases do you see happen that way?
Sloppy work, Nexus. I have a feeling your days are numbered.
I found where they stashed Sam. He’s at the Woodlawn Psychiatric Institute. We can’t leave him hanging there. Someone needs to pretend to be his doctor and call the joint and convince them that I’m some kind of official guardian. I’d do it myself, but they know my voice. Don’t ask.