Roy stood in the rain beneath the dark sky, his black suit drenched. An older man approached him from behind, barely wet under his pitch-black umbrella. He spoke.
"Roy. My name is John. I'm sorry for your loss."
Roy turned around.
"Did you know my father?"
The man lowered his head slightly and sighed.
"I work with the police. I just came to offer my condolences."
"I don't want anything to do with my father's work, thanks."
"I'm not here for that. But if you ever want some cash or a job, don't hesitate to apply. Your chances are high—barely anyone wants this line of work, and considering your father's skills… you might attract interest from those seeking talent of that caliber."
Roy slicked back his brown hair.
"I'm just not interested right now."
"I understand."
The man pulled out a small white rectangle of paper and spoke again.
"Here's my card. If you ever reconsider, give me a call."
"Thank you. I'll reach out if I need to."
"Goodbye, Roy."
Then John turned and walked away.
Roy's father's funeral had ended hours ago. He was the only one left, standing in the rain, still trying to process the fact that his father was gone.