Actually, I came to in front of the police station. The car had just come to a stop, and the two officers exited the vehicle. I would have jumped out as well, but there were no door handles where I was sitting.

I was helped out and escorted into the building. My hands were cuffed behind my back, and, even though my fingers were feeling tingly, I didn’t complain. One officer was dragging me along by my arm, which he had grabbed right above my elbow. He was a good looking guy. About six feet tall, thick dark hair that was cut close to his head. Big brown eyes with a dark unibrow above them.

He seemed to be well liked — everyone said hello to him and smiled as we passed. His name was Mike, as in “Hey Mike,” “S’up Mike,” and “Yo Mikey.”

This was someone I could be. As part of my regular invisible life, I often imagined myself as someone else. A few years back I took to envisioning select people that I saw, trying to imagine what it must be like to be right there in the moment I was watching them.

Me as Mike walked proudly, confidently. Flirtatious with the lady officers even with the unibrow, although Me as Mike would have taken care of that before leaving the house.

Mike dropped me in a bench and walked over to talk to someone in an office who was wearing a regular suit and not a uniform like Mike was. Me as Mike would never take any crap from the suits.

He came back for me, guided me off the bench, and brought me to a small room holding a small table and two chairs. A big mirror was the only thing that broke up the drab green of the walls. Of course, being the Law & Order fan that I am, knew that the mirror was two way, and I shouldn’t do anything embarrassing in this room.

Mike undid my cuffs and shoved me gently into one of the chairs. He cuffed my left hand to the table.

“The Feds are coming for you. Be here in a bit,” he said in a voice that should have been an octave or two lower. Me as Mike would deal with it. Mike left the room, leaving me alone — except for anyone watching me through the mirror.

I noticed there was a trashcan in the corner of the room, which is good because I still felt as though I would throw up any second now. I thought if I leaned over I could reach it with my foot and pull it over to me. I couldn’t, but it was a good distraction and, before I knew it, an hour had passed.

No Feds, no visitors, and, most important, no puke.

Officer Mike poked his head in the room and, in his sing-song voice, said, “The Feds’ll be here in ten more minutes.”

It turned out to be more like another hour.

I later found out that the reason it took so long was that the NYPD had called the FBI, who checked out the report and the interesting fact that no one could remember me despite the fact that I wasn’t wearing a mask. I was just happy to have my name and the word “interesting” used in a sentence together.

The FBI sent a few agents over to the bank, I presume to grill Vivian again and find out what the deal was. Just as they were piecing it together, the CIA came in and kicked the FBI off the case. It was the CIA who was now keeping me waiting.

My solitude was finally broken by a big man in a fancy suit. He introduced himself as Special Agent Daniel Sloane, and he took the seat opposite me at the table. He seemed confident and had an air of power around him, but I wouldn’t want to be him. His hairline was receding, and his ruddy face was filled with pockmarks. I also didn’t like his breath and his overall look screamed, “Don’t trust me.”

He was palming a Polaroid camera in his hand, and placed it on the table as he sat.

His voice would have better suited Officer Mike: “Terry Laine,” he growled, twisting the end of my name as a question.

I wanted to say yes, but my throat was so dry that I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I nodded instead.

He said nothing more. Just sat there, staring at me, studying me. Then he got up and left the room.

“Amazing,” he said a few minutes later as he re-entered the room. It was hard to tell with that face of his, but I think he was smiling. “I left the room, and couldn’t think of what you looked like. “

He paused and shook his head. “I’m lucky I remembered to come back in.”

He looked up, and now I could see that he definitely was smiling. He raised the camera and snapped a picture of me quickly. I’m pretty sure my eyes were open, but he didn’t give me time to smile.

He shook the picture and looked at it as it faded into focus. He nodded as if he were satisfied and stuck the photo in his inside jacket pocket. He stood up and took more photos — until the camera was empty. He laid them on the table and waited for them to develop, not saying a word — very intent on his mission.

As they finished developing, he shoved each photo into a different pocket — some in the jacket pockets and some in the pants pockets. The last one he kept in his hand. When he finished, he sat back down opposite, and dropped the smirk he had been wearing into a stern frown.

“You’re in deep shit — you know that, right?”

Still unable to speak, I nodded solemnly.

“You got two choices — jail,” he paused to let it sink in, “or come work for me in the CIA.” More pausing. I was sweating again.

“Here’s the deal — you will become an undercover operative answering directly — and only — to me. You’re perfect for undercover work — completely invisible. And if you do get noticed, no one will remember seeing you anyway.” He could no longer suppress his smile and shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it.

“We will train you and even pay you, but you listen and do everything I say.” He scowled. “Everything.” He stared hard into my eyes. “Or, at any given time and any time I feel like it, I will lock you up and no one will ever know you even existed.”

I could hear my heartbeat getting louder inside my own head. It didn’t sound like a bad deal in all honesty, but it was just the way he said it. It seemed obvious the Sloane was a Class-A asshole, but he was the asshole holding my leash.

‘Sides, it would be cool to be a secret agent. Saving the world was definitely on my list of things to do. What better way to get noticed by a huge group of people than to save the world? I had thought about joining the army or the FBI, but settled into the comfortable confines of business-to-business publishing. This was the chance to live my dream.

Not that I wanted Sloane knowing any of that. I didn’t think he’d like to reward bank robbers with their life’s goal.

“Okay boss,” I croaked.