“Free at last,” she squeaks, and they chuckle as she turns off the modulator. “Free at last,” Vickie Lynn repeats, in her near-forgotten alto.

“We’re glad to have you in from the cold,” says the secret man on the seat opposite. “You’d pushed the limits of the role.”

“I won’t miss climbing into that latex,” she murmurs.

“The agency considers you one of history’s greatest dogwags. You’ll have medals–classified, of course.”

Vickie Lynn smiles. “I had fun with the farce,” she says, “what else can we ask?”

The black car whispers down the Hollywood highway, windows dark as ink.