Billy paced outside of the bank for a good fifteen minutes, wringing his hands; shoving them in his pockets, picking up pieces of litter and tossing them into a nearby garbage can, and nodding to those that passed by. Most recognized him not as the former champion of St. Paul, but they recognized him as the man that was losing his shirt selling automobiles that no one wanted. He took a couple deep breaths then walked into the bank.

The clerk behind the counter saw him and gestured for him to come over despite the line. Billy walked over.

“Mr. Bigsley said to go on into his office once you decided to come in.”

Billy, embarrassed, feigned a smile. Warren had seen him loitering outside like a fool.

He headed down the short hallway to Warren’s office and saw him sitting be...

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