He got in.

The belt squealed the way it had squealed since spring, and he backed out and was gone.

When he turned his head to check the mirror, I saw a long white bank envelope on the seat beside him, its corner torn open.

The two hundred dollars was on the kitchen counter, where I had set it after he left.

I put my empty envelope down beside the bills, the torn window facing up, so I wouldn’t forget what they cost.

Arthur Cole adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses by the bridge and opened the thick manila folder.