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been living off the money I made with my bets.” She raised her glass to her lips and sucked at an ice cube.
    No one spoke. Keepsie screwed her eyes shut, apparently trying to focus.
    “Shit. That really sucks.”
    Peter smiled. “Succinctly put. Would you mind if I got you some water?”
    She shook her head.
    Ian hopped off his stool. “I’ll get it, I gotta whiz anyway,” He staggered toward the bathroom.
    “It’s brave of you to tell us this,” Peter said. “Who’s to say one of us isn’t an Academy agent? Or someone working with Doodad? There are a lot of people who would love to get their hands on your particular talent.”
    “Oh, there’s no Academy agent hanging out at Keepsie’s,” Samantha said, grinning. “What do we have to hide? Patricia’s sobering power is not in danger of taking over the city. And Peter, are you planning on smelling your way to villain-hood anytime soon?”
    Peter smiled thinly. He didn’t like to talk about his power very much; the power to determine private information about someone by smelling them had always felt shifty and perverted to him. He tried to avoid using it at all costs.
    Ian came out of the bathroom and headed into the kitchen.
     
    More somberly, Samantha said, “I got tired of keeping the secret, I guess. I don’t have any friends besides you guys, and I got tired of lying to you.”
    “That’s beautiful, Sam,” Keepsie said, hugging her.
    “Dear Lord,” Peter mumbled. “Ian, where is that water?”
    Ian didn’t respond. Peter and Michelle exchanged glances and slid off their stools, leaving Keepsie and Samantha to proclaim their undying friendship to each other.
    Ian came out from the kitchen just as they reached the door. His mouth was set in a flat line and he had lost all pretense of drunkenness. “Did you know what Keepsie can do? I mean, like how powerful her talent is?”
    Peter shook his head. “All I know is people can’t steal from her. I’ve never seen it in action.”
    “I have,” said Michelle. “Who was dumb enough to steal from her?”
    Ian grimaced. “You’re about to find out. And she’s no help right now.
    Let’s just hope her talent works when she’s bombed off her ass.”
    Keepsie had passed out on the bar, Samantha making a messy pillow for her with bar napkins. Peter sighed.
    Ian motioned for them to follow into the kitchen. “I was getting her water when I saw this.” He pointed at the floor beside the supply closet.
    A large cardboard box sat to the right. “Lost and Found” was written in black marker on the side, and various books, backpacks, umbrellas and other discards lay inside waiting for their owners. Everyone knew Keepsie’s lost and found was safe, because anything lost in the bar became the property of Keepsie, and therefore stayed there until she allowed it to leave.
    The man sitting in front of the box apparently did not know this. He was the most plain and nondescript man Peter had ever seen, the everyman, the perfect spy. Or the perfect villain.
    His brown hair was just a little too long, with enough dirty blond in it to make it look sad and forgettable. His hazel eyes seemed to switch between green and blue as he looked at them with a steady gaze. His age hovered around thirty, but Peter could see him looking younger or older with little effort.
    The man sat on the floor with one arm reaching inside the box.
    "Dude. It's Clever Jack," Ian whispered.
    The most notorious villain since Seismic Stan grinned up at them and waved with his free hand. "Hi there. Can someone go get Keepsie for me? I’m kind of stuck here."
     

    ***
     
    Ian and Peter made small talk about Keepsie’s afternoon while they waited for the very irritated Patricia to arrive. Michelle had found the waitress’s cell number on a phone list in Keepsie’s small office.
    “Huh. So she did have an office in the bar,” Ian said.
    They had called Patricia, apparently interrupting her on a date. After they impressed the