Warren places his hand behind him to catch the closing door, preventing a slam that would be heard throughout the fourth floor of The Copley Plaza. The sunlight streaming through the hall's corner window reminds him to retrieve his sunglasses from the inside pocket of his black leather jacket. He wraps the curved wire around his ears in the elevator, garnering suspicious looks in the lobby as he walks toward the side door facing St. James Avenue. He reaches into the left front pocket of his jeans to feel for the crisp fifty she always places there during his morning shower and steps forward to duck into his usual taxi.