Talking. Eating. Laughing. Living.
The complete lack of attention felt strangely refreshing.
“You look disappointed,” Hector observed.
I turned toward him. “I think I expected more crime.”
That earned an actual laugh — not the small amused exhale he usually gave me, but a real one.
“You watch too much television,” he said.
“Apparently,” I agreed.
He motioned toward the building. “Come on.”
The inside surprised me even more. The clubhouse wasn’t luxurious, but it wasn’t rough either — it felt lived in, which was something entirely different. Long wooden tables occupied most of the main room. Club photographs covered the walls. A bar ran along one side, and a large television played a baseball game nobody appeared to be watching. As we moved people greeted Hector constantly like a ma
