They were cruising down Washington Boulevard toward the Inner Harbor. Three-Rivers and the squirrel were ransacking the back of the conversion van for God only knew what, and the mousey kid they had rescued was coming out of shock and did not seem capable of shutting his mouth. T.T. just drove and drank the grape Gatorade that he had taken from Trippy’s refrigerator as Eddie talked a blue streak, “Thank you T.T. Redbone. You a lifesava’ son. Shit was gettin’ heavy brutha. Anything you eva’ need I dare fo’ ya son, anything. Kine’a fun when you live through it dough; lookin’ back en all. Could say I’m gettin’ addicted ta dis life a aventure.

“Thanks fo lookin’ out fo ma boy back dare too. He a good kid. His daddy dead en ‘is mammy ‘ill slit yo throat in a heartbeat. But he a good kid—love dat kid yo. Glad ta see he got hisself a pet. One weird-ass squirrel dough.

“So T.T. you in? You pard’a da program brutha; heavy hitta like you come in handy son. Los’ ma heat I did—crazy White dude I use ta run wit. He up en do a kidnappin’. Haven’t seen ‘im since. Nice ta have you on board. Pretty persuasive little sucker he is. He fill ya in ‘bout da mission en all.”

Mission? This is a petty drug dealer and some rich lady’s crazy runaway kid—and a talking, dancing, substance-abusing squirrel. What mission?

His quizzical look seemed to slow Eddie down for a second and Eddie directed a question to the back of the van where boy and squirrel could be heard emptying boxes, clanging glass, knocking over something heavy, and spilling something that sounded like marbles or change. “Yo, Three-Rivers, is T.T. up on da plan en all; you bring the big brutha here up ta speed?”

“Mucho up to speed Eddie. Mister T.T. Redbone, largest of Sunset warriors, has agreed to accompany us and protect us from Mother without hurting her.”

Eddie seemed to relax, and kicked his feet up onto the dash. “Ma Main Man, T.T. Redbone. Dat’s cool brutha, real cool yo. You know, mos’ people, when dey firs’ realize dat dey gettin’ involved with time-travel, dey kine’a…”

Grape Gatorade splashed all over the windshield as he veered right into the curb at Washington and Cross Street.

Eddie seemed un-phased and yelled back into the van. “Yo, Three-Rivers, when ya recruited dis badass Mandingo here I think you lef’ out da part ‘bout you bein’ da Jesus Christ a Medieval America en yo mom being a genetically-engineered-man-killin’-supa-bitch from da future. You keep operatin’ like dis son en we gonna have ta start handin’ out waivers wit all kine’a fine print like when some fool buy a house…”

Don’t lose it brother. You just blew out your frontal lobe and now you are on life support tripping on the sedatives. Mamma will have them pull the plug as soon as she says her prayers over you…