Salas pulled something from his cargo pocket and set it on the counter, a small brass clip with the screw still in it.

“Came loose off the old clipboard this morning.

I didn’t want it getting lost.”

“Then put it where it won’t get lost,” I said.

“Will you be at the board?” Dewitt asked.

“I’ll be there.”

I walked out past them into the afternoon heat.

Behind me I heard the pen start again on a fresh sheet.