Chapter 11: Day Eleven

For two days we obeyed term four.

Dinner was at six, at the little table by the window.

We ate everything on our plates and passed the salt in silence.

He did not mention Number Five.

I did not mention that he had folded the draft into quarters and put it in his shirt pocket.

On Wednesday, day eleven, I put down my fork.

"You were at the pier at seven," I said. "In a tuxedo."

"Yes."

"On Saturday morning. Before Preston even stopped holding my hand."

"I'm always early," Knox said.

"Three men failed in a row, and the fourth was already at the dock," I said.

"You can see why I would count that."

"I can see it."

"Did you know?"

He put down his own fork, very slowly.

"I brought the tux in case," he said.

"In case of what?"

"In case you asked."

I looked at him across the little table, with the harbor going gold in the window behind his head.

I wanted to believe him, and a buyer who wants to believe a vendor goes back and asks for the paperwork.

"That's a very convenient answer," I said.

"It's the only one I have."

He reached into his pocket and took out the folded draft.

He flattened it on the table with the side of his hand.

"Number Five," he said. "Name, blank. Hold fee, one thousand dollars."

"It's a draft."

"It's dated Friday."

"Four could have cancelled," I said. "Four has a nonzero cancellation rate. Everybody does."

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