Gavin went back to the Rotunda again Sunday evening. He said, later, he’d asked for the same kid he’d been with last night. The boy had been relieved to see him and, according to Gavin, while he didn’t understand why Gavin wanted to plug the drain in the bathroom sink, he was more than willing to help. “To get back at the bastards,” were his words, Gavin told us.
When I arrived at work Monday morning, Mr. Thorne stopped me to tell me there was a problem with a sink in one of the executive suites.
“The woman at the front desk will give you the keycards you need. Return them as soon as you’ve fixed the problem,” he told me in no uncertain terms.
I did. Of course the keycard to the hallway door that I returned wasn’t the same one she’d given me. As planned, Gavin had sent me photos of the
