“What do you mean no?” Kirk looked around for witnesses, but though there were three cars parked in the lot, they were empty. Back in the drive-thru line, the Ram pickup was gone, and apparently there’d been no other vehicles behind his own.

“You think anyone’s going to believe that an officer of the bank hijacked your car and crashed it into a wall for no reason?”

Oh, there’s a reason, Kirk thought. You were trying to get me to sign up for a loan. And when they see you, when they see that you look like a toothless fucking convict, they’re definitely going to believe me.

But he said nothing. He’d heard things about this new bank. Nothing specific, exactly, but there seemed to be a general uneasiness on the part of people, and the other day both Joey Accordia and Beto Gonzalez had expressed regret about switching their accounts over to First People’s. When he’d asked why they didn’t just switch back, neither had answered and both had seemed strangely unsettled. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, but now that reaction seemed entirely understandable.

The man stopped in front of him. “Look. A crazy person assaulted you, stole your car and totaled it. Not your fault. The insurance company will give you some money, and you can supplement it with a loan from the bank and get yourself a better car.”

“I don’t want a better car!” Kirk pointed. “I want that car!”

The man chuckled harshly. “Good luck with that.”

Kirk used his phone to snap a quick picture.

With one swift movement, a rough hand reached out, grabbed the phone from his hand and threw it hard on the ground, smashing it. Just to make sure, the man stomped on its corpse with a heavy scuffed shoe.

“You can use some of that loan money to get you a new phone, too,” he said.

Laughing raucously, he walked back toward Burger King, as, with an audible woosh, the Nissan was engulfed in flames.

3

Alfred Murdoch took his usual break at the eighth hole, after hitting two under par for the first time this afternoon. This was the section of the course that abutted the park, and there was a shared restroom at the border of the two that he liked to use because it was clean and always empty, unlike the dirty overcrowded men’s room by the pro shop.

Telling Bruce to wait and watch his clubs, Alfred trekked across the green to the restroom. There was no door, just a privacy wall, and he walked around it, through the open entrance. He’d never encountered anyone else here before, but when he stepped inside, he heard a noise from the stall. Stepping up to the first of the two urinals, he began unzipping his pants—