His phone rang. A glance brought a groan.

"Yes, sir?" He smiled with his voice while his brow furrowed. "Where?" he asked. "I'll be right there."

His employer was sitting on the curb, his head in his hands. The remains of a white BMW convertible sat slumped in the street. The car was bleeding fluids out into the street. The deflated airbag lay limply in the driver’s lap as the woman reclined back in her seat, her head tilted way back, apparently trying to stem a bloody nose.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She hit me," his employer said.

He surveyed the scene again. There was no mistaking the deep handprint embedded in the hood.

"How?"

"I thought I saw Sara," his employer said. "I looked over and was walking backward, and she hit me."

"Sara?"

"No, you idiot, this thing," his employer said, motioning to the dying car. "Did you get her number yet?"

"This woman? In the car?"

"No, you shit for brains. Sara's number!"

The assistant held his breath for three counts. He had to stay calm. He could hear a siren in the distance, warbling toward them. "No, sir, Miss Halcyon does not want to talk with you currently."

"Well, I'm sure she would if you would just get her damn number so I could talk to her." He glared at his assistant. The assistant held his ground against his employer's gaze, though he pondered if he was about to become ash.

"Sir, she has a restraining order."

"Whatever," his employer said, sweeping away the thought with a gesture that caused roadway litter to scatter slightly.

"Sir, I really think we should focus here and do something about the problem at hand."

"Well, she caused it."

"But it looks like you stepped out into the highway?"

"I thought I saw Sara."

"I got that," the assistant said. “But that siren getting louder will bring some activity shortly, and you already have a small gathering of fans over on the far corner." He looked over and was certain he saw several people using their phones to capture the festivities. It would be on TMZ in minutes

"You're saying I should do something superheroic," his employer said.

"I think rendering some assistance, yes, some assistance, could improve the whole look of this scenario. It is the American way, sir.”

"But it was the girl's fault."

"Sir, she looks middle-aged to me. Probably even someone's mother. This will look bad if we don't get out in front of it."

"Alright," he said, getting up to check on the woman. "Then while I'm taking care of her, why don't you do your job and get Miss Halcyon's number."

"I will try, sir," his assistant said nodding, holding his phone to his ear. "Right after I get off the phone with your wife.”