I was close to hyperventilating and my hands were shaking as I slumped in the backseat of the car. I turned to Frank.

"Yurgo is dead! Bannister killed him, he's working for Miles. Thank God you came and got me when you did."

Frank put his hand on my shoulder and smiled, "I would've come for you, but I didn't. Bogey did that all on his own. He just took up and crashed through the door. It's the damnedest thing I ever saw."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know Sean, but now I really am jealous."

"Don't be jealous, Frank. I would've come for you too,"  Bogey said calmly, "I heard the shots and calculated that Sean was in trouble. There was no time to consult you."

"Well thank you, Bogey. You damaged your front end pretty severely from what I saw after you crashed through the door, are you all right?" I asked.

"Those are primarily cosmetic damages. I'm a rear engine vehicle. The engine is functioning fine, however my frame is scraping against the tires and they will fail unless that issue is addressed."

"I'm glad you're OK Bogey. So you're basically all right, no trauma?"

Again, I swear I heard Bogey chuckle, "I am a car, Sean. I do not have nerve endings, there's no pain if that is what you were asking."

I laughed.
"Of course not, I'm still a little freaked out. We should really get you repaired, get the dents taken out and such. Miles will be looking for us. I'm not really sure what to do next. I do have my memory crystal, though. There's just no place we can go for me to upload it back into my head. We can't go to any place Preston or Bannister know about, so Jackie's is out."

Frank appeared to be deep in thought. Finally he turned to me, "I don't know about any labs, but if we wanna get Bogey fixed, I know a guy named Dale who runs an off the books garage. He's not the most honest individual, most of his business is altering the appearance of stolen cars, so we could probably disguise Bogie. It would make it a lot easier to move around."

"Well," I said clapping Frank on the back, "the criminal garage it is. Do you know where this place is, Bogey?"

"I believe Frank is referring to an establishment owned by one Mr. Cliffton Dale, not entirely reputable, but efficient. It is located just outside of Los Angeles proper, fifty-eight miles from here. Estimated travel time, one hour and fifteen minutes."

"Let's get going then, Bogey!" Frank said cheerfully, "you're going to get a facelift!"

I found myself deep in thought for the majority of the drive, frustrated and angry. The course of events over the past day and a half had me on my heels. I was doing nothing but reacting, being chased from one place to another without any kind of a plan. I now had my memories but no place to install them. I had whatever it was it a Yurgo gave me, but not the slightest clue what it was. Worst of all, I realized that there was no way that Miles was going to let me live. Not only had I betrayed him, but I had witnessed a murder on his behalf. Things did not look good. I've always been a master of understatement.

Frank for his part was in an unreasonably good mood. I think there was some part of this whole misadventure that he enjoyed. Maybe it was the excitement and the adrenaline, maybe he was just nuts. As we reached the outskirts of Los Angeles he began a conversation with Bogie.

"So Bogie, tell me, when we get to the garage, besides the repairs, we're going to get you painted a new color. Orange is a little too easily recognizable. Do you have any preferences?"

"Thank you for asking me Frank. I think I would like to be painted purple."

"Any reason?" He asked.

"I was built in February. Amethyst is the birthstone of February. Amethyst is purple."

"That makes sense," Frank chuckled, "purple it is. I know I don't have to remind you, but when we get to the garage, you need to behave like a normal car. You can't engage the mechanics in conversation, it would freak them out. OK?"

"I will behave like your average Toyota, I promise. Am I that different, am I some kind of freak?"

I butted into the conversation, "Bogie, you are amazing. You're not a freak, you're a wonderment. I think you were wrong when we had that conversation yesterday. I think there's a good chance you would pass the Turing test."

"That is most kind, Sean. I don't think I would agree with you. I think I'm still just a program, but still, that is very kind."

"You're welcome," I replied, "how far are we from the garage?"

"We should be arriving in five minutes," Bogie answered.

The body shop was set up more like a car wash than a garage. When we got out of Bogey, he was mounted on a moving pallet and attached to a rail system that moved through five separate bays in a narrow elongated building. After we had been introduced to the owner,
an obsequious man named Clifton Dale, we were escorted to a waiting area where we could monitor the progress of the repairs performed.

I looked up at the series of monitors in front of the couch where Frank and I were sitting. Bogey had been brought into the first bay. Two mechanics entered with what appeared to be laser torches. They quickly cut out the dented portions of the car's hood and side panels. When this was complete they removed the headlights, tires, and front fender. The car was pulled along the rail into the second bay.

In the second bay, a group of what appeared to be scanners rotated around Bogey. A diagram of his damaged and now incomplete body appeared on the screen. When that was complete, the make and model of Bogey was referenced and the complete diagram of what the car should look like was superimposed on his scanned image. This complete, he was pulled into the third bay.

Five large extrusion tubes moved forward and back over Bogey's body. With each pass they produced a small dark patch over all the damaged areas, making repairs to correspond with what his original body specifications were. Frank explained that this rig was actually a giant 3-D printer, producing a carbon fiber polymer which replicated any differences between factory diagrams and Bogie's damaged body and side panels.

The printing process took about 30 minutes, after which Bogey looked complete and repaired except for the missing headlights and fender. He was taken to the fourth bay where a fast drying enamel was sprayed over his body in a shade of amethyst purple and then cured under a series of bursts of UV light. That complete, Bogey was moved into the final bay where his fender and headlight were reattached and tires remounted. He emerged from the long building, looking good as new, in a shiny bright new shade of purple. The entire procedure had taken about an hour.

I turned to Frank.
"That was amazing. You know there's a part of me that doesn't wanna get my memories back. I pretty much know everything I need to know. But the things I don't know, are amazing and when I see them it's just... so incredible. Seeing everything again for the first time is such an amazing gift. On top of that, I'm not sure I'm ready to remember Claire and her death," I shook my head, suddenly feeling sad and confused, "I'm sorry Frank, I'm just babbling."

Frank put his arm on my shoulders and spoke to me, "You've  just had a rough day, my friend. We'll get this figured out. We can stay at a hotel, find a lab, and get all this behind us. The only bad thing is that Miles has people everywhere."

Even as Frank was trying to reassure me, my phone rang. I answered. It was a very agitated Bannister.
"I would highly recommend you get back here Sean. Miles will not take this lightly!"

I'd had enough. Hearing his voice was definitely the last straw. I replied in an angry but modulated voice, "Bannister, you doublecrossing piece of shit, I'm not going anywhere. The way I see it, you're in as much trouble as I am. You let me get away. Do you think Miles is going to say that's fine. I don't think I have anything to talk to you about. I'm a little busy trying to avoid your bosses' men. Say hi to him for me while he's cutting off your head."

Banister sounded panicked and desperate.
"Listen, Sean, Miles hasn't got his whole organization looking for you. He doesn't want his guys to know that his memories are out there somewhere with all the locations of his money and contacts. He knows someone would get greedy. The only people who know about your situation are me, him, and those two goons he's always got with him. We can still work this out. I'm pretty sure I can convince him to let you go."

This was the best news I'd heard all day. I hung up on Bannister without thinking, no way was I going to just turn myself in. However, knowing that Miles'  whole organization was not looking for me did a lot to calm me down. I had time now. I almost had an upper hand for the first time since this all began. Deep down though, it didn't feel that way at all.