I flicked out a card that read g. carr: tiny mysteries solved. It landed in a puddle of gin on the bar and soaked up the liquor thirstily. Abner glanced at the panel of smoked glass mounted above the bar. A bell rang.

“I’m on the clock,” he said.

“Your siblings think you took it.”

He stalked mechanically down the bar, clearing each tube with a swift jerk, smacking awake any sleeping drunk and telling him to buy another round or get out. I followed him, calling questions from across the trench.

“But why?” I said. “A pickled finger’s worth nothing. All it does is hurt your family, and why would you wound such fine people?”

“If you’re not drinking, you need to leave.”

I dropped another nickel and refilled my mouth. I swallowed without gagging and kept my eyes locked with his. He did not look like the vicious bastard Judy had painted. He was just another flop scrambling to hang on.

“Where were you on the night of the twenty-third?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

The bell rang, then rang again.

“What’s that bell?” I said.

“My timekeeper. Behind the glass. Adjusting my rating. I’m only a 64. If I fall any further . . .”

“Did you take it?”

“No!”

“Can you prove it?”

He marched down the bar on that windup-toy gait, past glass so dark it was impossible to see what the timekeeper was doing or if he was even there. He came back with a fat ledger, which he dropped on the bar, taking care to keep it away from the gin.

“The twenty-third?” he said, opening to the most detailed time sheet I had ever seen. “What time?”

“Between dark and dawn.”

“I was here. I’m always here. More specific? From 6 to 6:07, I’m in the chair. 6:08 to 6:22, I’m greasing the mechanism. 6:23 to 6:34, I’m fighting with that fat bastard at the end of the bar about how he can’t bring food in here. 6:35 to—”

“I understand.”

“I’ve had a lot of bad jobs,” he said. “Sweeping floors. Hauling trash. This is the only place ever left me feeling less than human.”

The bell rang three times, then a fourth, then a fifth.

“Oh, hell,” said Abner, his puffy face suddenly oozing sweat. “Hell, hell, goddamn it to hell.”

Abner slammed the ledger and rumbled off in an imitation of running. The bell rang faster and sharper until it was one long tone. The patrons responded with a dull, animal roar. I launched myself across the deep wood. One of the gin swillers tried to drag me back, but I loosened his grip with a kick to the jaw. I ran after Abner. He threw open a panel on the far wall, gripped a smooth wooden crank, and whipped it around with all the speed he could muster. The drunks cheered him on.

“Why does Judy hate you?” I said.