Lined with shuttered storefronts and rundown apartment buildings, these alleys were havens for all kinds of illicit activity. Dressed in dark hoodies and camo fatigues, Hunter, Ben, and JT were walking the alleys, looking for a notorious east-side address. Getting there had involved yet another small military operation. Ben and JT, in their trusty Huey, had flown Hunter off the roof of the military building around noon, while St. Louis, wearing Hunter’s helmet and bomber jacket, stood at the window in Hunter’s quarters and waved to the crowds below, distracting them. Landing next to the Mississippi after a two-minute flight, the trio had pulled their hoodies up tight around their faces and started walking. Hunter had briefly told his friends about his flash of memories the night before, but as the psychiatrist had advised Ben, his friends didn’t push the subject. Soon enough they were swallowed up by crowds of similarly dressed people who were going about the business of doing illegal things.
