She agreed to meet at a little espresso shop near her building, and while she waited in an overstuffed chair I got our drinks—a double cap for me and a bottle of raspberry-flavored water for her. I threw in an almond croissant, and when I offered her half she told me she was dieting. Dieting? I could encircle her bicep with my thumb and index finger. I sat down and she said, “I talked to Ronnie Lutz about the broken camera. I told him Daniel was homeless and couldn’t afford to replace it. Oh, and that he was very sorry. Lutz was noncommittal, though. I think I could have changed his mind, but I wasn’t going there.” She rolled her brown eyes, which sparkled with flecks of gold in the overhead lights. I must have looked puzzled, because she added, “You know, he wanted me to sleep with him.” I chuckled and might’ve even blushed. “Oh. That would’ve been beyond the call of duty.” “For sure. Anyway, one of my coworkers told me the camera’s insured, so the whole thing is bullshit anyway.”
