“Gee, thanks, Otto,” Dink said.

The following day, Dink walked into his old room and found his civilian clothes on his bed and an envelope containing his wallet. There were no credit cards, of course—Herb Fisher had cut those in half—but his driver’s license was there, and a little over a hundred dollars. The next morning, Dink was having coffee with Otto in the rec room. “There’s a terrific movie on in town,” he said. “I saw it in the local paper. I hear the management allows trips to the village. Why don’t we go this afternoon?”

“They’ll sometimes let us take a day trip,” Otto said. “I’ll see what I can do.” He left and walked toward the administrative offices, then returned ten minutes later. “We’re on,” he said. “Starts at two-thirty.”

OTTO DROVE Dink into the village and parked on Main Street. The theater was two buildings from the corner gas station, as Dink had remembered. Otto bought him a ticket, and they went inside. Twenty minutes into the feature, Dink grabbed his gut and made a grunting sound. “I’ve got to go to the john,” he whispered to Otto.

“Okay.”

Dink left the theater and walked quickly down to the gas station, where he found the owner reading a newspaper. “Hi,” Dink said. “My name’s Brennan. You’ve got my car stored here.”

“Right,” the man said. “Can I see some ID?”

Dink showed him his driver’s license.

“Take me a minute,” the man said. “I gassed it up when it came in.” Ten minutes later, the man was back with Dink’s BMW convertible. “You’re all paid up,” the man said, handing him the keys.

Dink gave him a twenty and pulled out of the station. It felt good to be out and behind the wheel. He headed for New Haven. He drove to his dorm and found the custodian.

“Hi, Paul. Can you let me into my room? I’ve lost the key.”

“Hey, Mr. Brennan. The boss said you’d left school, so I boxed up your stuff.”

“I’ll save you the trouble of getting rid of it,” Dink said.

The man unlocked the door. “There’s some mail, too. It’s on your desk, and there’s a package.”

Dink had thought there might be mail. He riffled through the envelopes and found three he wanted. They contained the new credit cards and an ATM card that Parker Mosely had ordered to replace the ones Herb Fisher had destroyed.

Then he turned his attention to the larger package. He opened it with a box cutter. Inside was a beautiful leather briefcase, one that matched his luggage. He opened the case and found a card inside: “Happy Birthday! You’re a man now. Love, Dad.” The old man didn’t forget, he thought. How about that?

He packed his suitcases with some clothes, then he found his passport and checkbook in a desk drawer and put them into the briefcase with his Mac Air. He carried the cases out to his car, stowed them in the trunk, and headed for New York City. Once in the city he visited the Apple store and bought a new iPhone. His old one had disappeared. His first call was to the Lowell, a small, elegant hotel on East Sixty-third Street, near Madison. He booked himself a suite, then retrieved his car from the garage, drove there, and checked in.