Sadly, the unfamiliar drowned out the familiar. I could only think of Shavonne in the abstract, not in the flesh. I pulled into an empty parking space, put my rented sports car in park and groped in my pocket for my trusty cell phone s***h computer s***h digital receiver s***h search engine, one of the most amazing inventions in history. I suddenly had the brainstorm to look her up. I was feeling strangely detached and confident that I could do so without breaking down like a little girl who dropped her ice cream cone. I ran a Google search but struggled to find anything early on. I was looking for an address or a telephone number (surely she must have had a phone number while living with Clay Banks). The search proved unusually slow, partly because we were out of range of a strong signal,
