The next day after the commendation ceremony, Clara saw that man again downstairs at her apartment building.
Arthur leaned against a streetlamp, holding a paper bag. The bandages on his leg were still neatly wrapped. When he saw her come out, his eyes lit up.
“Morning.” He lifted the paper bag. “Freshly baked apple pie. It’s their signature. I queued for half an hour.”
Clara paused.
“How do you know I live here?”
Arthur smiled. “If a police officer wants to find someone, there’s always a way. And the same goes the other way—someone saved by a cop will always find a way to repay the favor.”
Clara looked at him without speaking.
“Don’t worry, I don’t mean anything else.” Arthur handed her the paper bag. “I just owed you a proper thank-you for that day. You dragged me out of gunfire an
