“I have somewhere to be,” I said.

I opened the cab of my truck, tossed the duffel onto the vinyl passenger seat, and climbed in.

I backed the Ford down the gravel lane and turned onto the main road toward the construction yard.

The iron gate to the Sterling Construction yard was unlocked when I pulled up to the gravel staging area at eight o’clock.

Inside the small wooden office trailer, Frank, the site manager, sat under a single fluorescent tube, sorting through yellow fuel slips.

“I saw the headlights on your Ford,” Frank said, setting his brass pen down on an open ledger.