When Raúl gave me his security job for August, he told me not to see anything. You don’t see nothin’, he said, because we both know I get curious. Sometimes the other guys think I’m soft, the way I get lost in my head. My girlfriend says it’s trauma, but that’s her answer to everything these days. After my schnauzer bit her leg, and she yelled, I told her it was probably his separation anxiety, but she scrunched her eyes in a mean way, and I knew something was broken. She said she was going to Cape May with her sister, and I said I’d rather be in church than that shithole town. Still, she packed up her fancy shampoos and left. So when Raúl asked me to fill in a stretch at the federal courthouse, I said yes.
He said August would be easy, with most judges and lawyers off in the Hamptons or Europe, and me escorting folks around a mostly deserted building, a granite trapezoid spanning three city blocks in downtown Manhattan. Thanks to Raúl,
