Two men stand over the corpse of a dead girl.
One of them was eating pancakes at a 24-hour diner.
The other was snorting coke with a prostitute.
In front of them now is the body of Stacy Roberts. Above them is the sixth-story roof that she was pushed from.
The first man’s watch reads 3:06 AM. The second man’s watch has both hands pointed up.
The men do not know each other, or the girl. They both wear collared coats to protect against the autumn air.
The man with the digital watch lights a cigarette, replacing the lingering smell of maple syrup on his breath with the stench of tobacco.
The man with the analog watch accepts a cigarette from the man with the digital watch.
They smoke in silence, each taking care to not let any ash fall on the body.
The man who exchanged money for company reaches into the girl’s pocket, extracting her phone.
The men both look at the phone. The phone rings. The caller ID says ‘Dad’.
The man whose eyes are bloodshot hands the phone to the man who is balding.
The man with the thick-framed glasses answers the phone and listens. He nods for dramatic effect. He hangs up.
The man who holds the phone slips it into his pocket while the man who doesn’t retrieves an envelope from his own.
The man who has a wife and kids hands the envelope to the man who was always too busy to settle down.
The man who has never been on a plane counts the contents and nods, again for dramatic effect, while the man who has never ridden a train looks at his still broken watch.
Both men leave in silence as a light rain begins to fall and a raccoon takes a half-eaten burrito from the dead girl’s hand.