The minute I saw him again, waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel, I knew that something was wrong. He wasn't in the suit I remembered him in. Instead, he was in a uniform. Uniforms are bad. I have known this forever. Yeah, if you get robbed or mugged or something where things go bad, you call the cops. But if you possibly can, you never call them. They mean complications and forms and questions. And if he was waiting for me, there was nothing good about it. And yet, still, a part of me was happy to see him. At least things were going to happen the right way. The American way. And he had been really nice the day before. If there was a shelter that helped out, I was all about it. I didn't have much money and a shelter wouldn't charge me. My money wouldn't last much longer. The combination of his uniform, his manner and the information, convinced me that I should go with him. He was very polite as he led me to his car. I was secret...

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