He stares like it should be obvious that everything isn’t okay. I struggle with maintaining eye contact because he’s really handsome for an older guy. Salt-and-pepper beard on his diamond-cut jaw. Black hair in a quiff style with streaks of silver on the side. Strong and defined arms with the veins showing under his brown skin, which gets celebrated in the gym as if that’s the only mark of someone putting in the real work. His pecs are popping through his black T-shirt with the cuffed sleeves, sweat staining his pits. And as someone who can’t get a tattoo without scaring off agencies, I’m a huge fan of the white moons tattooed down his bicep, completing the package of this man who belongs on magazine covers.

“Shop got broken into early this morning,” the man says. “People wanted to steal other people’s shit instead of pizza dough apparently.”

I feel safe enough to approach, not expecting this pawnbroker to beat me to death with his broom. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Unless you were the looters.”

“No, but fuck whoever it was,” Orion says.

“I like that fire,” he says, giving Orion a fist-bump.

Orion grins. “Is it cool if we pop in real fast? We’re looking for a camera.”

The man sighs. “A lot was stolen last night. I don’t even know what inventory I have at the moment. Feel free to swing by tomorrow when we’ve reopened. I’ll hold any cameras I find on the side for you.” He begins turning away.

“Hold up.” Orion looks at me.

He always respects my business, even with strangers I’ll never see again. I’ll have to let him know I’m fine with him supporting me.

“I won’t be around tomorrow,” I say.

“Out-of-towner?” the man asks.

“Decker,” I say.

Then the moment of truth: Will he challenge the reality of Death-Cast, or trust that I’m dying?

The man shakes his head. “That’s tragic. I’m sorry to hear that. You’re so young. . . .”

I’m relieved that he cares, but of course my truth stings anyway.

“Come on in. You can have a look around,” the man says. He shakes our hands. “I’m Férnan.”

“Valentino. This is Orion.”

“Nice to meet you both. Orion, mind the swearing if my son comes out from the back. He’s ten and already cursing like me whenever the Mets are losing.”

“That’s a lot of fucking cursing, then,” Orion jokes, tapping his Yankees hat.