Jack’s eyes were glued to the red brick building across the street from where he was sitting. His building. Well, not totally his. He, along with Ted Robinson, Joe Espinosa, Harry Wong, Bert Navarro, and Jay Sparrow, owned the building. They’d invested the bonus money they’d gotten years ago when they worked for Hank Jellicoe, money that none of them had ever touched until a few months ago, when he convinced his little band of avengers that this was what they needed to do. This meaning buying the six-thousand-square-foot brick building, refurbishing it, and going into business together. Into a business that was completely off the grid. And today was move-in day.

In a shopping bag at his feet, he had a bottle of champagne, crystal wine flutes, and a jug of tea for Harry so they could christen their new business in—he looked down at his watch—ten more minutes. Next to the shopping bag was Cyrus, a huge, sleek, 140-pound black German shepherd, who was his new best friend forever. Cyrus was two years old and, as far as Jack was concerned, half human and half dog. Cyrus was so in tune with Jack, he knew what Jack was going to do before Jack knew it himself.

Four months ago, he had stopped in for his morning bagel while Cyrus waited outside. While he waited in line for his coffee and bagel, the door opened, and a man bellowed, “Everyone on the floor!” As he was dropping to the floor to obey the robber’s orders, Jack saw a black streak clear the door with inches to spare. In the blink of an eye, all 140 pounds of ferocious dog propelled the robber to the floor, then sat on him. Jack, in a lightning move, scooped up the gun the man had been brandishing while Domingo Lopez, known to his patrons as Ding, called the police. Cyrus was the hero of the day, and, as Ding said, “I don’t care what the Health Department’s rules are, Cyrus can come in here anytime.” His patrons agreed, and everyone else looked the other way. Jack reached down to pat the magnificent dog on the head. Cyrus nuzzled his hand.

Jack returned to his thoughts as he stared out the window. The weatherman had predicted a possibility of snow flurries later in the day. It was, after all, December, so snow flurries were to be expected. Just like last year, when the same prediction led to three weeks of arctic air and so much snow that the District had to shut down because there was nowhere else to move the white stuff.