“You all know Lilla, right? She’s our guest of honor and she gets to name our hog,” the young man said, placing his hand gently on the girl’s shoulder.

The girl looked up at a smiling woman seated in the stands in front of Lew.

Borg looked at his watch. His gambling high had been over the moment he handed the cash to the old man. The look on his face changed from one of self-satisfaction to respectful attention as the girl spoke.

“Fred,” she said. “That’s my big brother’s name. He was killed in Iraq by a bomb.”

The man in the black shirt removed his hand from the girl’s shoulder, began applauding and announced, “Then Fred it’ll be.”

The crowd stood and joined in with applause and a few whoops and hollers. Borg began making his way up the aisle. He paused when he saw the man in front of him looking at him. Lew was thin, short, balding, his face perpetually sad.

Borg was tall, broad with thick arms and wary. His fists were clenched.

The hog was led out of the ring with people shouting, “Take care now, Fred!” and “Good job, Fred!”

Lew reached into his back pocket, pulled out the trifolded papers with their blue cover sheet and handed them to Borg.

“She told you where I was,” Borg said.

Lew was silent.

“I didn’t think she knew,” Borg said, looking at the trifolded sheets in his hand.

The crowd buzzed past them, people looking at the big and little man whose faces were no more than a foot apart.

“How much do you get for giving me this?” he asked.

“Fifty an hour plus expenses,” Lew said, meeting his eyes.

“I’ll give you three thousand dollars to take this back and say you couldn’t find me.”

Lew shook his head no.

“Five thousand,” he said, holding the papers in front of Lew’s face. “Cash. Now.”

Lew couldn’t explain it to him. He didn’t need money. He made enough to keep living in the room behind his office in Sarasota. He had his memories, his depression, his integrity. None of them were for sale.