Perhaps I should come back another time. Things could be awkward if Sissy was really here. Diesel chirped at me, no doubt wondering why we still sat in the car. That decided me. Forge ahead. “Come on, boy.” I grabbed the bag with the plaque and held the door open for the cat. I clanged the ornate door knocker three times and waited. Diesel sat at my feet and stared up at me. This was a new place, and he was curious. No response. I knocked again, three times. Moments later the door opened, and an unshaven, tired-looking Morty Cassity stared out at me. He wore a rumpled suit jacket with a pair of ragged gym shorts. He looked like I’d gotten him out of bed and he’d thrown on the first thing he could find. “Good morning, Mr. Cassity. I’m Charlie Harris. We met last night,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to intrude on you at a time like this, but I have something for you.” He glanced down at the shopping bag, then at Diesel. I expected him to reach out for the bag and slam the door in my face, but for whatever reason, he stood aside and motioned me to enter.
