After his ears stopped ringing and after the last cloud of black, putrid smoke cleared, always there was smoke after the fire and not before, she had ...he look that he had after he survived another bloody battle. Always as if a crescendo to their mission, the air was filled with the stench of fuel, oil, and burning rubber. He wonder how many deadly, cancerous carcinogens he inhaled. He wondered how many years being a Marine fighting wars took off of his life. She had that same dazed and empty. "We have already been out to your mother's house. We asked if we could see her typewriter. She was most accommodating. We typed up a few lines and they match, in every case. No, you're 'The Psychic'. By the way, we didn't 'out' you to her. We told her we had gone over older letters to the editor and were verifying that this was indeed the address and typewriter that wrote such good opinions. We awarded her a free year's subscription to the paper as a cover," he said smiling."Well, that was kind. More

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