Harry's eyes opened with a start.

"What?"

God, what was wrong with him? He couldn't think... couldn't think. It was all a mess. A big, stupid, useless mess! Sam paced frantically, mumbling incoherently to himself. Every time he tried to break out, break into a mental trot, the horse he was on got his legs shot out. It was useless.

"Useless!" he screamed. "I'm useless this way!"

Al had been trotting around after him, punching keys on the handlink. "Ah... no, you're not useless. You're Harold James Denby, an undercover DEA agent." He frowned at the readout. "Okay, maybe you are useless in that regard, but..." He frowned at the readout again, then trotted his way out in front of Sam, gazing up at him earnestly. "Are you hearing voices?"

Sam stopped dead. "Hearing voic..? No. Well... you, but..." Sam's eyes got wide as Al's meaning hit him. "He's crazy, isn't he? Harold James Denby is crazy."

"No shit, asshole," came a grumble from the floor behind him.

Al glanced pointedly over Sam's shoulder, then pointedly back into Sam's face.

Sam's eyes slammed shut and he mumbled, "Okay, fine. Does Ziggy have a way out of this mess?"

Al pecked at the handlink again. "She says you have a... friend? That can't be right." He stuck his Havana in his teeth and gave the handlink a couple of whacks. "Accomplice," he corrected. "A woman by the name of Diane Russell. She also says you have a..."

Sam's coat pocket sent out a stream of electronic chirping.

"... cell phone."

"Thanks for the tip," Sam grumbled, digging out the little phone and turning it on. "Yeah."

"This is Lieutenant Gomez. I'm with the DEA joint task force," said the voice on the other end.

Why did I already know that? And if I already know that, why are you telling me?

"Give it up, Denby. You've got no way out of there."