The first thing out of his mouth when I sat down was about the High Park. I hadn’t been in maybe a year or so since I’d moved out of the neighborhood, but my brother was a regular . . .
Officer Leon James slipped out the back door of the Quayside Oil Company, where he worked part-time as a security guard on the overnight shift. In his hand was a paper bag containing the cold meatball sub that he brought from home but had forgotten to eat. Instead, he’d spent his break dozing in an office chair, his chin nodding toward his chest . . .