We had a job to do, yet all I could think about was crawling into bed next to Elle. I hoped the fuckers we were about to visit had the money. I didn’t feel like killing anyone tonight. Not that I ever felt like killing, but tonight I had bigger plans. Sitting on the loveseat on the sun porch, I was holding a ring in one hand. When I was thirteen, Gramps gave me a package. It was from Gram, and he’d been holding onto it for six years. Why he chose that day, I’ll never know, but I opened the package to find a ring and a note. The ring was made of silver, with its sides as smooth as Gramps could get them when he made it for Gram. It was not quite a half inch wide. On top of the silver, was a strip of copper with 38° 57' 6" N / 92° 20' 2" W stamped into it. Gramps had found an old typewriter and used the typebars with the letters stamps to mark the ring that he proposed with, and the ring Gram wore every day until her death. In my other hand was the note that accompanied the package.
