How many times had I asked him to lock the door when he left the house? In this neighborhood, you never know who might let themselves in to have a beer, watch some TV, read our mail, help themselves to the stacks of money on the couch. Which is why, upon returning home from a long day, I wasn’t all that surprised to see a certain someone relaxing in the breakfast nook, empty take-out containers littering the table.

“I didn’t think you’d turn up so soon,” I said, “especially after the you-know-what. Aren’t you afraid you might be recognized? Your picture is all over the news.”

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