The Evil That Men Do. Dave White

the last to leave the restaurant was a rarity for him, but today he found it to be a refuge. He didn’t have to talk to Susan about what had been going on. He didn’t have to worry about paying off anyone. The FBI wasn’t bothering him. He could just sit and count bills and reflect on how this restaurant was something he’d built, something he created. And it wasn’t a pile of rubble in New York City.

      After he finished tallying tips, checking time sheets, and calculating expenses, he put all the receipts back in the register, checked all the silverware was put away, and made sure the oven was off. The last thing he needed was a gas explosion here.

      Carter noticed the irony of the thought and stepped through the door onto the sidewalk. It was after midnight and the street was nearly empty. A few college kids spilled out of the bar up the street. To his right, on the corner of Church and Bloomfield, a homeless guy eyed him up and started to walk toward him. The last thing Carter wanted to do was hand out money.