Ronald's Reformatory was 40 miles outside the city limits. It was the further of the two penitentiaries for McDonaldland. It was also the more severe. Two parts nut house, one part prison.

McCheese had tasked Ronald with running the joint when the ad dollars had dried up and folks at home could no longer equate a circus clown playing with kids to a hunger for hamburgers. The Clown was hesitant at first but had come to love the role of warden, ruling the rotting cellblock like some demented kingdom for McDonaldland cast-offs. The worst of the worst ended up there. Well, the worst of the worst and the Hamburglar.

Mac had always thought the sentencing for the burglar to be a bit harsh. He would have been a better fit in the Patty Pen with the rest of the non-violent offenders. But the power Ronald wielded with the Mayor landed him in Ronny’s world. Suppose the Clown never did get over how HB had tested better with audiences than he did.

A stern-looking officer waved Big Mac’s car through the second gate and into the visitor parking. Mac got out of the car and nodded at the surly correctional officer.

“Ronny around today?”

The officer bristled at the pejorative.

“Ronald is not. He is trying to get to the bottom of this outbreak. You oughta be doing the same.”

Big Mac nodded, offering a sarcastic smile, and walked on, flicking his lit cigarette at the second of two no-smoking signs he passed. He entered the side door and headed down a corridor to the visitor's hall.

Prisons have a scent and sound. Ronald’s Reformatory was no different. It was musty and smelled of copper, chlorine, and Ketchup. The walls echoed, alternating between laughter and screams; the blend of both shook Mac’s spine a bit. He was glad to close the door behind him and check his weapon and phone with an equally friendly officer who led him to the partition the Hamburglar sat at.

Hamburglar was maskless, waiting at the window.

Big Mac always forgot how young he was, but without the mask, it was apparent—even if the two years in had aged him considerably. The mask made his big eyes menacing; without it, they were soft, and sad.

“Chief, what could I have possibly done to deserve this treat?”

Hamburglar asked with a worn smile, trying to sound put off but appreciated seeing a familiar face. He did not get many visitors. In fact, he hadn’t gotten a single one in those two years.

“Ah, you know HB, just checking up on you. Wanted to pick your brain a bit. How you doing in here?”

The Hamburglar averted his gaze to the lower left part of the partition.

“I am, I am, you know, I am… surviving.”

An inmate passed by, shoving him in the back.One of the Happy boys a discarded mascot that resembled a happy meal box

“OHH, Bitch Burglarrr, I am see you later.”

The passing prisoner kissed the air twice before grabbing his crotch..

“Gonna have you eat some box. Hahaha”

Hamburglar kept his eyes away from Mac, as the laughter disappeared down the hall.

“Surviving.”

Mac racked his brain, trying to offer up some sort of needed kindness or sympathy for the thief. It was not his strong suit, so he pushed past.

“What do you know about the Quarter Pounder?”

“The Quarter Pounder, well I believe it is a fresh beef burger seasoned with just a pinch of salt and pepper, sizzled on a flat iron grill, then topped with slivered onions, tangy pickles, ketchup, mustard, and two slices of melty American cheese all on a sesame seed bun.”

The Hamburglar smiled, teasing the detective as he had many times before. This time it did not incense Mac; he chuckled, surprising the Hamburglar.

“Walked into that one, I suppose. I am here about the outbreak. Forty-nine sick, one dead.”

“Kid in Colorado’s kidney failed the other day too,” the Hamburglar interjected.

Mac had not heard that yet but nodded knowingly.

“I wish I could help, Chief, but the prisoners around here aren’t really talking about it.”

Mac’s face fell. Dead end, he thought. HB saw the dejection and repeated his statement again with more intent.

“Yeah, like I said, the prisoners here don’t seem to know anything about the outbreak.”

His eyes darted to the door where a guard stood watching their conversation intently.

Mac heard him for what he was saying. The guard might have too.

“Visit’s over,” he announced, striding toward them.

Mac did his best to provide some cover.

“That is too bad, HB; no one around here knows anything. Thank you for the time even if you did not have any info.”

The guard had reached them and was starting to pull the Hamburglar up by his arm.

“Yeah, sorry I could not give you anything, Chief. If I find out anything, I will let you know. If not, maybe you can stop by again sometime, just for a visit.”

He was now forcely being led away back to his cell.

“I will, HB. I will.”

Mac had told a lot of lies in his life; this wasn’t one of them.

He watched the guard violently lead Hamburglar past the row of other inmates in the visitor’s hall, who interrupted their visits to leer and catcall him as he passed.

Mac remained seated, watching his former nemesis face this walk of shame before turning back and locking eyes with Mac. Soft, sad eyes. He disappeared. The door slammed behind him.

Mac stood slowly and did his best to appear disappointed with the meeting as he gathered his belongings from the checked locker.

Walking out, he glanced at his phone. Eight missed calls, two voicemails, one text.
All from the Mayor.

Get to my office NOW, the text read.

The text was ominous, but Mac did not mind. With the insight he had just gained about the outbreak, he had not been sure of his next move.

Now, it had been made for him.

He was off to see the Mayor.