A wave was washing
completely over the bow of a tanker. Both the ocean and the ship were
muddy shades of gray. It was a gray stormy day. There were no people in
sight--just the deck, battened down, waiting to rise through a crushing
weight of water. A simple black frame. No caption necessary, not in a
waterfront diner.
He remembered eating lunch with Maria and Elena. That was fun. Cute
kids. Walking the beach with Francesca. The memories eased his mind.
But this is now, he reminded himself. He set his mug down with a clunk
to emphasize the point. Now. He left a big tip and walked to the
brokerage office.
"Hello, Oliver."
"Myron."
"Bet you want to see your statement?"
"Only if there's anything left." Myron searched in a filing cabinet.
"Ah, here we are." He glanced over it. "Yes. Not bad." He handed it to
Oliver. The balance was quite a bit lower than the last time Oliver had
checked, although still higher than when they began. He looked at the
detail. There were two withdrawals of four thousand dollars each. He
put his finger next to them and pivoted the paper so that Myron could
read where he pointed. "Yes," Myron said. "Francesca called twice.
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