In the few minutes remaining, he reviewed how he had come to this point in his life. During all his time in prison, he had avoided any violence but what was necessary to keep from being bullied, and after he had been discharged from parole he swore to himself that he would not ever do anything that might return him to prison. Curly had destroyed all that for him—first, with intimations of friendship, then by crude threats, then by the raid on Laurence’s bank account. He admitted to himself that he had willingly cooperated with Curly, but he had rapidly grown sick of him. He had promised that if he ever saw the man again, he would kill him, and now he was at that point, and he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

Still, he had brought no money to give Curly, so unless he was allowed to walk away, he would have to take steps.

He heard no footsteps, but then suddenly, Curly sat down beside him.

“Evening,” he said. “I’ve got something for you.” He reached into a bag and pulled out a stack of hundreds, secured with a rubber band. “Here’s the fifteen grand I took from you, maybe with a bit more for interest.”

Butch was flabbergasted. He took the money and set it on the bench beside him. “Where’d you get it?”

“A friend and I made a score earlier tonight. This was my share.”

“Well, shit, Curly,” Butch said, “that’s damned good of you. I hadn’t ever expected to see it again.”

“I’m hitting the road, and I’ve got more than enough to get me there,” Curly said. “There’s a girl, too. She lives in Florida, and that’s where I’m headed. I think I’ve had it with New York and New York’s had it with me.”

“Well, Curly,” Butch said, “I wish you and your girl every happiness.” He took the .25 automatic from his pocket, pointed it at Curly’s right temple, and fired.

Curly collapsed sideways onto the bench and lay very still. Butch picked up the black bag, stuffed the money Curly had given him into it, then looked into the other bag he had brought with him; he was sure that the computer contained information about their raid on Laurence’s bank account. He found Curly’s MacBook Air laptop and put that into the black bag with the money. He went through Curly’s pockets and there was nothing of note except a snub-nosed pistol, which he dropped on the ground next to the body; then he got up, tucked the black bag under his arm, and walked out of the park.

He walked home, stopping at a garbage can to smash the laptop and hide it under the other trash, reckoning there might be some reference to him in the contents, then he walked home.