JD stood at the front of the line of people filing out of the theatre. Well, at the front and slightly behind. Agent Johnson had pulled him aside for a slightly more private conversation while two police officers handled getting the contact information and statements if the rest of the patrons.
“So,” JD said. “Cops? Are those your guys in costume, then?” It wasn’t like the USASSDA to engage in interdisciplinary cooperation. There was too much chance for someone ‘normal’ to find out things they weren’t supposed to.
“No,” the agent answered. “They were already on the scene when we showed up.” But Johnson refused to fall for so blatant a conversational distraction. “JD, what were you thinking? We’re paying your way do you keep a low profile, not engage in heroics!”
JD scowled. “Hey, it’s not my fault!” He protested. “I just wanted to see the play, man. And now I’m never going to find out what happened to the traitor dude.”
Johnson winced and shook his head. “It’s not me you need to convince,” he said. “JD, agent Richards is outside.”
JD paled. “Agent Richards? The same agent Richards who told the president I should be buried down a six mile hole secretly dug in the depths of the Alaskan wilderness?”
Agent Johnson hesitated. “Um. It’s agent Richards. You know, the one who arranged for your deal with the government? Got you out of the USASSDA and has been monitoring your activity since then?” JD showed no sign of recognition — but then again: his eyes were hidden by his red goggles. “You used to date,” Johnson said with exasperation.
“Crap,” JD said. “Yeah, that’s the one.”