Abbott pulled open the door to Bennie’s. Somehow, he would have to cover himself, account for the disappearance he was about to effect.
Inside the bar, it was cold. Robert, the owner, always set the thermostat to 65 during the day, when there were no customers.
This was how Abbott liked the bar best: dark and empty. The only illumination came from a single track light above the bar and what seeped out from underneath Robert’s office door. The jukebox’s neon lay dark. No music played. No people babbled. Nothing made his head hurt.
The office door swung open. Robert emerged, empty glass in hand. He was a tall man who bore a resemblance to basketball coach Phil Jackson. He dressed as well, anyway. Abbott had never seen him not wearing a suit. Even here, during the day, he never so much as
