“Not your first choice of work, the warehouse, but you’re doing all right?” It wasn’t necessarily a question.

“I’m good,” I said.

“We’ll try to get you out of there when we can, on to something better,” he said. “Unless you’re happy where you are.”

“I could use a change.”

“Where are you living now?”

“I’m staying with a friend,” I told him. “Something closer to work. Until I find a place of my own.”

“Don’t go looking out there yet,” he said. “It might be temporary. I’m working on it.” I nodded. “It’s too bad you didn’t keep your dad’s place,” Froehmer said.

“I couldn’t afford it, not at the time. Not now, even.”

“You take after your mother like that,” he said. “She could spend a dime when your father brought home a nickel.”

“I did all right once I got out of the hole,” I said.

“You’re out of another one,” Froehmer said. “Your dad would be happy about that.”

I wondered. I wondered if he would be happy.

“Anyway,” Froehmer said, “I wanted you to know that I haven’t forgotten about you. I’m working on improvements.” He took a forkful of food from his plate. “You never can tell,” he said.

“Never tell what?”

“The way they cook in this place.” Another forkful. “Hang in there, things will come around. You’re doing good. Good things will follow.”

“I’m hanging in there,” I said. Froehmer reached across the table between us and put his hand on my shoulder. “I see your dad in you, but I see you too,” he said. “Know that I’m thinking about you, that I see you, and where you could be.” I nodded and he got up and left me with the check.

When I got back to my car, Mobley was sitting in the passenger seat. “How’d that go?” he said.

“Good.”

“I’ve got a way for you to make some money,” he said. “Some real money.”

“How much?”

Mobley told me a number and I shook my head and told him a number. It was Mobley’s turn to shake his head.

“Putin gave a guy three thousand dollars,” he said.

“And a car, an expensive car. I don’t want the car; I want the cash. Or you can find the guy who’ll do it for the three.”

Mobley acted as if he was thinking about it, as if he had any part of the decision. I knew Froehmer had already given him a ceiling and I figured it was probably twice what Mobley had offered. I told him another number, a much larger number. “I can’t do that,” he said. “You know the Russian never got to drive the car. Or spend the money.”

I suppose it was a threat.

“We should talk to Froehmer,” I said.

“That’s not going to happen.”