I refreshed myself with a shower and a nap, washed a stack of crusty dishes that my son conveniently managed to overlook, and drove back downtown. The sun was setting when I rolled into the car park across the street from Walker’s Way. Rick was standing out front on the sidewalk, having an animated discussion with Marlene, one of our waitresses. She was waving a cheque at a person being lifted by paramedics into the back of a waiting ambulance. I ran across the street. “Marlene, stop it please,” Rick was pleading. “The guy has an oxygen mask on his face. What do you want him to do? Tell them to wait while he pays his bill?” “Well, I’ll tell ya, that’s one way of skipping out on a bill. He stiffed me, too,” she complained. “Gee, maybe he was too busy dying to think about leaving a tip.” “I hope you don’t expect me to pay for his dinner. It’s not my fault, ya know.
