Chapter 10: Shawn

Shawn didn't answer his phone that day.

Or the next day, or the day after that.

Mickey called half a dozen times. He texted Shawn a photo of the invoice with no words under it.

It said delivered. It never said read.

He opened the shop every morning at nine behind the plywood anyway.

Aoife drew a giant key on the plywood in black marker and wrote STILL OPEN under it.

Customers came in just to tell them they liked the key.

Vin sat in the car out front for eight hours a day.

On the second day the baker brought him a paczki through the car window.

On the third day he came inside and asked if he could cut a key.

Mickey let him cut one.

It didn't open anything, but Vin kept it.

On Sunday morning Aoife came in from getting coffee and said, "His truck's back."

"Whose?"

"Shawn's. Parked on Belmont outside his place. I drove past it twice to be sure."

Mickey put down the deadbolt he was rekeying.

"Watch the counter," he said.

Vin drove him.

Shawn lived in a garden apartment in Avondale, half under the street, with bars on the windows.

The bars were Mickey's idea. The deadbolt was his birthday present to Shawn, two years ago.

"I'm going in alone," Mickey said.

Vin turned in his seat to look at him.

"He works for my uncle."

"He used to share my toothpaste. He's not going to hurt me." Mickey opened the door.

"You're forty feet away. If I scream, you can break something."

"I'll break everything."

"Just the door. I installed that door."

Mickey went down the four concrete steps and knocked.

Nothing.

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