Out of habit, I put the bag with the trophy in the safe. I packed our stuff and put it in the closet and closed the door. I sent Froehmer a message. “In hand. Trouble with the car. Will update asap.” I saw that he’d read it and the message disappeared. I sat in a chair and held my phone in my hands and waited. I waited an hour. Then I waited another hour. I tried to be like Frank and think through it all, from the moment I got back into the car, to the crash, to me getting back to the hotel. I tried to think about what I knew and forget about the things I didn’t know. I tried not to think about the cops, the driver, all the things that could have gone more wrong. Frank never wanted us to use a rental; he didn’t understand why Froehmer had insisted on it, even if it was with someone else’s name. The whole thing had been done as other people, the hotel, the car, the driver’s license. Frank always insisted. “You know how they caught Timothy McVeigh?” he had lectured me. “He had an expired registration tag on his getaway car. One overlooked detail and the whole thing fell apart.” There was nothing to worry about, I told myself. The worst we’d done was steal a little trophy; we hadn’t blown up a federal building. Besides, Frank wasn’t as dumb as Timothy McVeigh. Still, I tried not to think of Frank in trouble and me unable to help. There was no trouble, I kept telling myself.

Frank finally texted. “No cars available. Nothing. Done waiting. See you soon.”

I couldn’t stay in the room any longer and went out and stood on the street near the front of the hotel and watched the people pass and looked at every approaching cab. It was late afternoon. I texted Froehmer. “Everything good. Rental broke down. No car til tomorrow.” Froehmer replied. “No worries. See you then.” There was nothing to worry about now. We’d leave the next day and hand the thing over to Froehmer and get paid and wait for the next job. We had a minor hiccup, that was all. A guy ran an intersection. We weren’t hurt. It didn’t mean anything. I’d have to make sure Frank knew it didn’t mean anything. We could do a lot more jobs like this, I thought; we could come into the city, get what Froehmer wanted and get back home. We could do this all day long. It was easy money. That’s what I thought. I think too much, or not enough, or just enough to get it all wrong.

I never saw Frank get out of the cab. He was just there, on the sidewalk next to me. “Everything all right?” he said.

“I’m good,” I said. “You okay?”