and so I settled on one of those, a picture he’d taken of himself with a friend at a Pacers game, the basketball court behind them, their features blurred.
And then I told him. I told him that I lucked into some money and that I’d try to do right by it and that I missed him.
I’d put the phone and charger away by the time Daisy showed up. She was walking toward Applebee’s when I called to her through Harold’s open window.
She came over and got into the passenger seat. “Can you give me a ride home after this? My dad is taking Elena to some math thing.”
“Yeah, of course. Listen, there’s a bag under your seat,” I said. “Don’t freak out.”
She reached down, pulled out the bag, and opened it. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered.
“Oh my God, Holmesy, what is this? Is this real?” Tears sprouted from her eyes. I’d never seen Daisy cry.
Davis said it was worth it to him, that he’d rather give us the reward than have us snooping around.”
“It’s real?” “Seems to be. I guess his lawyer is going to call me tomorrow.”
“Holmesy, this is, this is—is this one hundred thousand dollars?” “Yeah, fifty each. Do you think we can keep it?”
“Hell yes, we can keep it.” I told her about Davis calling it a rounding error,
but I still worried that it might be dirty money or that I might be exploiting Davis or... but she shushed me.
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