Claudia took her phone out of her pocket. His throat closed up. He could see the money. Forty thousand dollars, three feet away, in her small hands. Forty thousand dollars meant nothing to Claudia Castro. Claudia Castro ate forty thousand dollars for breakfast. The way he saw it, Claudia Castro owed him way more than forty thousand dollars. But it was a start.

The bartender came back with their drinks. Lars held his beer and watched Claudia in the slices of mirror behind the bottles along the back of the bar. She leaned forward, tucked into herself, and sucked the drink through the cocktail straw. When she’d drained it, she motioned for another, then pulled the ticket she’d bought from her purse.

“Do you know where this gate is?” she asked the bartender when he came back with her drink.

He leaned over. “Woods Hole? That’s two levels down.”

“Thanks.” She tucked the ticket back into her duffle. “Could you watch this for just a minute?”

“Sure, hon,” said the bartender.

Claudia slid off the barstool. She was going to the bathroom. It was now or never.

The restrooms were in a vestibule off the dining area. Lars stood just around the corner that she would have to turn to come back to the bar. Two minutes later she did just that, and he threw his shoulder into her.

It couldn’t have worked better. Wham. She fell forward on the carpet. Her phone at her feet.

“Oh my God are you okay?” he said, kneeling, slipping the phone into his back pocket.

“Jesus!” she said, up in a nanosecond. “What the fuck?”

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking…”

“Where’s my phone?”

“Your phone?”

“You took my phone!” Her voice was suddenly very loud.

“I didn’t take your phone. Look, I’m sorry I accidentally…”

“Give me that!” She lunged at him and he jumped back.

“What the fuck!” he exclaimed.

“Everything okay over here?” It was the bartender. The people at the tables around them were looking.

“No,” said Claudia. “He tripped me and now he has my phone.”

“Is that true?”

“No,” said Lars. “It was an accident. We bumped into each other.”

“Tell him to give me my phone back.”

“Sir, do you have her phone?”

“No!” His voice cracked a little.

“He’s lying,” she said. “Check his pocket.”

“Miss…” said the bartender.

She looked at Lars. “Let him check your pockets,” she demanded.

“Or what?” He hadn’t thought this through.

The bartender put his hand on Lars’s chest. “Everybody calm down.”

“Don’t touch me,” said Lars, stepping back. “She’s the one freaking out.”

“Check his pockets,” Claudia said again.

“Sir?”

Lars put his hands up. “I don’t have her fucking phone.”

“Great, then can you please just show us your pockets so we can refocus this young lady’s attention?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know you, man!”