T U R T L E

“Turtle.”

The bearded man delivered the word with a breathy gravitas, as if it actually meant something.  Royce figured the old guy was snapping under the pressure, or perhaps Paul Winston had always been crazy.  Royce didn’t know the restaurateur well enough to speculate on his long-term mental state. Royce hardly knew him at all. He’d eaten at the man’s establishment dozens of times over the years, and of course, he’d seen the man there, keeping an eye on his employees and checking with customers to make sure they were enjoying their meals. Beyond that Royce had had no contact with the guy.

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