The keys were still warm from my pocket when I laid them on the counter.

Dale didn’t look at the keys.

He looked at the wall behind me, where the clock had come down back in September and no one had ever hung it up again.

“Payroll shut down at noon,” he said.

“Payroll’s direct deposit.

It posts at midnight.”

He pulled a folded stub out of his shirt pocket, held it up so I could see the top inch, and put it back.

His thumb stayed pressed on the fold.

“I’m going to need that.”

“You’ll get what you’re owed.”

On the shelf behind him sat a dented red coffee can with three screwdrivers and a roll of blue shop towels crammed down into it.

Next to the register, on a square of wax paper, was half a cheese sandwich.

White bread, no meat, no mustard, the crusts left on.

“Dale.

The insurance draft went through on Tuesday, and it bounced.”

He picked up the sandwich, looked at it, and put it back down.

“Nine hundred fifteen dollars and forty cents,” I said.

“That’s my final check.”