He reached inside his sport coat and produced a white, unsealed envelope, which he placed on the luminescent bar next to my beer. "I'm glad to get rid of it, I get nervous carrying that kind of cash in this end of town."

I didn’t acknowledge his remark as I looked at the envelope. It lay on the frosted glass, half an inch thick. I picked it up carefully as if it might break. Fanning through it, I found twenty-five one hundred dollar bills, a handwritten address, and a key. "I get the other half when it's done."

"Yes, I know. Preston told me," he said.

Henry came over again and shot me a curious look, then sized up Martin. "Another?"

I nodded.

"And what'll you have, Dad?" Henry asked sarcastically.

Martin looked at me. "What, is he making fun of me?"

I shook my head and stifled a grin.

"I would like a white wine please."

Henry grunted and grabbed a fresh glass.

"So how do you want it done?" I asked Martin.

He hunched over instinctively and leaned close to me. "Well it's got to look like an accident or it's just no good."

"Besides that," I said, dismissing his comment, "is there anything else I need to know?"

"The key is to the alley entrance, it's a heavy steel door. You can't miss it."

"Are there any windows?"

"Yes, on the second floor but there are none on the first floor, they were bricked up years ago."

I smiled and grabbed the fresh beer. "It'll be done in a week. Meet me here again, at midnight, the Saturday after it’s done." I folding the thick envelope of cash into my front pants pocket.

"Are we finished then?"

I looked at him sideways. "No,” I said sternly. “We are finished after we meet again,"

"Okay then, until we meet again." He held up his wine glass making a toast.

I clinked my glass against his and drank deeply, letting the cold beer calm the excitement I felt at being flush with cash again. He gathered himself, shook my hand, and nodded a curt goodbye. He took a first step away, but I grabbed his shoulder before he could go and whispered in his ear, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a laugh. "Make certain you're insured."

He smirked, unamused, and walked away quickly as though he didn't want to acknowledge his involvement. They're always like that the first time.

"Who was that?" asked Henry.

"Not sure really, let's find out," I said, holding up his eel-skin wallet. I fished out the driver’s license. "Martin Shelby it says."

"Nice pull,” he beamed. “Are you working again?"

"Yes, a new job."

"Why did you lift the wallet? Wasn't there enough money in the envelope? Hell, I saw it. It was that thick." He held his index finger and thumb an inch apart.