Twelve Months Later, Ethan Came Back With a Sleeping Newborn and a Broken Suitcase

“Name?”

I gave it.

He wrote it down.

I folded the money into my coat pocket and left the watch on the gray felt.

Marcus’s office was above a nail salon in the strip mall on Route Nine.

The stairs smelled like acetone.

I got there at one forty.

He had a legal pad squared to the edge of his desk and a pen he kept clicking.