He nodded once, turned, and walked back out into the morning sun.

By noon I was walking into the cramped front room of Arthur’s office in the strip mall behind the bowling alley.

The place smelled of wet cardboard and old coffee grounds, and the fluorescent light over the front desk buzzed like a fly stuck in a jar.

Arthur sat at a small steel desk surrounded by gray filing cabinets, rubbing his knuckles with his left hand as he read a ledger.

He looked up when the door chime rang, and his mouth fell open an inch.