By Charles Fried

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No way. ” Then he glanced at the ladder and back at me. ” I followed his gaze. ” “You’ve got to go up there. Great view . . although there’s not much to see this morning; it’s too overcast. ” And I meant it, too. I hoped my mom would let me stay long enough. “You can see the lake from up there. ” “Yeah. Come on. ” He hoisted himself up onto the railing and then out onto the ladder in one smooth motion, pausing just a second to turn and look back down at me. ” Was he kidding? I’d been rock climbing since I was ten.

I shuffled—as slowly as I could—down the hallway, but I didn’t need to worry; she had already forgotten me. I leaned against the wall just out of her line of vision and listened. ” she whispered to Stuart. “I don’t know. It was encrypted and it will take me a while to work it out. But look . . the same office, two days ago. And this”—I could hear him tap the computer screen—“last week. He’s been in constant contact with someone in that office. Why? ” Mom made a disbelieving sound. I don’t know if she was denying it was true or if she just didn’t want to accept it.

Seeing Joe struggle to breathe kicked me into autopilot. If I had taken the time to think, I might not have run toward him. I might have considered that someone was trying to kill the guy and it would do well for me to lay low. But I wasn’t thinking. I raced to where he had fallen onto the sidewalk and dropped to my knees beside him. “Joe? ” He was still clawing at his neck and I had to hit his hands away so I could loosen his collar. ” I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady. “The . . latte .

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