It was almost midnight the following Friday, a weary drizzle falling, when Don found himself on Fourth Street. He’d taken to walking in the evenings, hoping to stave off the dreams with exhaustion.
After a lot of soul-searching, he’d handed over responsibility for Andras to a co-worker, on the grounds he’d known Michael as a child and couldn’t be objective. He’d expected to feel relieved, even comforted for doing the right thing, but instead he felt worse than ever—wasn’t this just another abandonment? Another failure to help the man?
There was more than one diner on Fourth Street, but Don didn’t feel the urge for coffee until he was passing Nick’s Place. Had Andras chosen it simply for the name? Don fought down the chuckle that threatened to break out. He must be more tired than he’d th
