“The dining car will be closing soon, sir.”

Cam reached into his wallet and pulled out a $20 silver certificate. “Let me stick around,” he said. “You can turn the lights off if you want, but I can’t go back to my car.”

The steward took the bill and folded it. “Anyone in here? Dining car is closing!” he said. Then, looking through and around Cam, he buttoned up the place and turned off the lights. Cam was left with only the odd light outside and dim moonlight glistening through the dining car windows as he continued to nurse the bottle he’d bought hours before.

“You can come sit down, if you like,” Cam said, two half-glasses on. “No sense just standing there alone in the dark.”

A shadow slid into the seat opposite him. “Very kind of you. Not that it will make any difference.”

“Of course not,” said Cam. “No need to shout and beat one’s breast at the inevitable. You could probably see that by my…feeble efforts to hide.”

“A feeble effort is still more than most will put forth, at least before the end when they begin whining and pleading.”

Cam nodded, then gestured to his bottle. “Care for a nightcap? I’ve got a clean glass, still. I had them put it out, for…I don’t know what. Maybe I had a premonition.”

“I’ll have a sip, but no more than that. Can’t be impaired on the job, hmm?”

“No, of course not.” Cam poured two fresh glasses. He took a deep drink from his own, first. “There, you can be sure I haven’t doctored it.”

A hand reached out took up the other stem, sipped. “A fine vintage. Shall we settle up, then?”

Cam nodded. “Very well. Will it be quick?”

“No need to drag it out.”

His drink finished, Cam set the stem back down. “Do it, then, and let’s have done with it.”

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