He hadn't been on the road much more than an hour when he heard the sounds of sirens behind him. As he was the only vehicle on the road as far as he could see, he knew it had to be for him, although he didn't know why. So he pulled over to the side of the road. Two California Highway Patrol motorcycles pulled up behind him and stopped. A patrolman got off one and walked to the side of his truck.

"Good evening, officer. Have I done something wrong? I wasn't speeding."

The officer removed his helmet. He was a short man with dark hair and blue eyes. There was a trace of an Irish accent when he spoke. "May I see your license and registration?"

He took the license out of his wallet and the registration out of the glove compartment and handed them to the officer, who looked at them and handed them back. "Mr. McDonald, you're asking for trouble."

"What have I done, officer? I couldn't possibly have been speeding. Not in this old thing. I can't get it over 40."

"No, you weren't speeding. You were, however, breaking the emission control law and pouring more foul pollutants into the atmosphere. Also, your license plates and registration have long expired. It's also illegal to drive with a windshield that's spiderwebbed like that. Finally, your sign on the back is bound to get you stopped about every five miles or so."

"Sign? What sign?" Lindsey got out of the truck and went to the back. There, in large letters, he read, COPS SUCK. "Damn you, Angel," he said, as he tore the sign off and threw it into the truck bed. "I swear I didn't know anything about this."

"I didn't think so. Your friend must be a real prankster."

"He's not my friend. At least not exactly." Lindsey returned to the open door of his truck. "So now what, officer? Do I get a ticket? Or are you going to have my car towed?"

"I think that's something we ought to discuss. There's a diner up the road. We'll talk about it over coffee and burgers. My partner and I will follow you." He walked back and mounted his motorcycle. Lindsey got into his truck and drove about a quarter mile to a brightly lit diner with a bright neon sign that read CROSSROADS DINER. He parked the truck and went inside.

The diner was very clean looking with a friendly smiling waitress who led him to a booth. The officers joined him, sitting on the other side. The other officer was a woman. Although the male officer removed his helmet and goggles, she didn't. "Don't mind my partner. She's having a bad hair day."

"Sorry to hear that."

The female officer nodded.

"She also has laryngitis. So...burgers, fries, and coffee all around?"

She nodded.

"Coke for me, thanks." The smiling waitress nodded and was back in a minute with their beverages. "So exactly what did you want to discuss, Officer. . .?" His nametag, though shiny, somehow was unreadable to Lindsey, as was the other officer's.

"Why don't you tell me where you're headed in a truck that probably won't make it another fifty miles? And what's an educated guy like you doing dressed like a good ole boy? I'll bet you're a doctor or a lawyer or a CPA or something like that. You can afford a better vehicle than this."

"My truck is a lot better than you'd think to look at it. It brought me to L.A. from Oklahoma ten years ago and carried me through college and law school. I don't have another car. The Mercedes I drove belonged to the firm. When I left, I couldn't take it with me. They'd have been after me for car theft."

"Sounds like it's not a very good firm. Like the one Tom Cruise worked for in that movie?"

"Much worse. And I was doing a lot of things I'm not proud of. So I'm leaving."

"Running away?"

"No. Going back to my roots to figure out who I am."

The officer shook his head. "No. You know who you are. You're running back to somewhere you think there's safety and no hard choices to make. But, as I said before, you're no good ole boy. You probably never were, and I'll bet you hated it back there."

Lindsey shook his head. This conversation was really strange. Just then the waitress arrived with their burgers and fries. Lindsey took a large bite of his sandwich. It was absolutely the best burger he had ever tasted, made of absolutely great beef and cooked to perfection, topped with lettuce, tomato, onion, and lots of cheddar cheese. The fries, too, were exactly the way he liked them, thin and dark and just salted perfectly. The officer's fries, on the other hand, were thicker and lighter, and his sandwich was topped with bacon and mayonnaise. The female officer's sandwich resembled a Big Mac, and her fries were exactly like his. But all they had asked for was burgers and fries. Strange.

"Yes, I did hate it back there. I was poor and everybody looked down on me and my family. My father was the town drunk. My brothers were juvenile delinquents. Thank goodness everybody loved my sister Elaine. It wasn't quite so hard for her."

"Then why go back? I'm sure there are lots of things you could do back in L.A. You could join the D.A.'s office and prosecute some of these criminals. Or you could be a public defender and help poor people who get in trouble and can't afford good legal help. I'll bet you're a hell of a lawyer."

"That's exactly what I was. A lawyer from hell. But I have no place to stay, and no references. And I'm sure my old firm would love to see me dead or worse."

"If it was that bad, and if you were that bad, I think you probably have a lot to make up for. I'll bet you could find someone who would be willing to help you get back on your feet and find someone who would be willing to bankroll a lawyer who does a lot of pro bono work. You're going in the wrong direction now. Head back and find the way to pay off some of your debts to the Powers That Be. They have plans for you."

As Lindsey frowned at him, wondering who the hell the guy was, the officer took his right hand. "What's this scar? Interesting. It reminds me in a way of the scars from a suicide attempt. How did this happen?"

"A vampire with an axe cut it off," Lindsey said sarcastically, not expecting the officer to believe him. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, but the guy was really getting to him.

"But you got another one? It must have cost an awful lot."

"More than you know," Lindsey said bitterly.

The officer looked Lindsey right in the eyes. "Turn around and go back. Go to someone who'll help you get on the right track. Start doing what you were destined to do. Start helping people and atoning for your sins. Believe me, this truck wouldn't make it back to Oklahoma. You'd probably be stranded in the middle of the Arizona desert. Trust me." The officer pulled out his ticket book. "I'm going to leave you with a warning. No tickets. But get back and do what God intended for you to do when he gave you the brains and looks and talents you have." He handed him the ticket and rose, picking up his helmet and goggles. "The meal's on me." He nodded to the waitress and left.

The female officer briefly touched Lindsey's right hand. He could feel warmth flowing from her hand to his. Through the helmet he saaw a radiant smile and suddenly he recognized her. "Elaine! My God, Elaine."

His beloved sister, dead six years, left the diner and got on her motorcycle. The two officers headed off. Lindsey pulled some money out of his wallet for a tip and left. He got into his truck and headed down the highway back to Los Angeles and Angel Investigations.

"Well, Lawyer Boy, what brings you back here?" Cordelia asked as he walked in the front door.

"Angel's sign, for one thing. He put this on the back of my truck. Is he here?"

"Didn't I tell you not to come back?" Angel suddenly appeared behind him. "And I did warn you not to drive too fast."

"Yes, you did. But I was stopped by a very strange state cop. He told me that I had to come back because the Powers That Be have plans for me. He took me to a diner where they knew exactly how I like my burgers and fries without being told. I'll bet if I went back it wouldn't be there now. And his partner was my sister Elaine, the person I loved more than anyone in the world except for my mother, and Elaine has been dead six years. He gave me this written warning. Maybe the name means something to you."

Angel took the ticket, looked at it, and did a double take. There, at the bottom, was a familiar signature, Allen Francis Doyle.

"I know Doyle. He was the seer before Cordelia and passed his gift on to her just before he died a year and a half ago." He looked at Lindsey. "I guess you'd better bring your stuff inside. There are a hundred rooms here. Pick one. Then after you have a good night's sleep, we'll talk."

Lindsey nodded and headed out to his truck for his duffel bag and guitar.

Cordelia looked at Angel. "He saw Doyle?" Tears came into her eyes as she remembered the half-demon, half-human who had worked with them. She had started to have feelings for him when he sacrificed himself to save a boatload of innocent demons.

"It looks like somehow Lindsey is going to be part of our team, Cordy."

On the road, two motorcycles were stopped side by side. The woman took off her helmet and shook out her long brown hair. "Thank you for bringing me with you, Allen. It was great seeing my brother again. I think we've got him on the right track at last."

"Anytime, Elaine. We'd better get back. Tony and the kids will be missing you."

The two angels started their motorcycles again and headed upward to their heavenly homes.