“He was demanding an emergency variance for his driveway extension.”

“Did the zoning clerk hand it to him?” I asked.

“No,” Nora said.

“She told him he needed a full site survey first.

He banged his signet ring on the counter and told her he owned half the logistics trucks in the county.”

Footsteps scuffed the concrete behind us.

Trent Caldwell came down the sidewalk in a dark gray tank top and sweatpants.

In his left hand he had a pair of four-ounce blue leather MMA gloves strapped together at the wrists.