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for this story were unsuccessful.) Around Johnstown, everyone knew Robert Jr. An inventory check revealed the missing case, which was easily traced back to one Curtis Lee Duffy.

Stealing that many cigarettes was considered a felony, but the store manager decided against pressing charges.

Submitting himself to the kitchen diverted him — from fighting out of boredom, from stealing for the thrill.

From listening to his parents’ latest screaming match.

The lock on the glass front door was unbolted, and the first customers walked through. The restaurant was supposed to have opened in March. The equipment that arrived broken, the delays, the cost overruns — all of it had turned many of his nights sleepless. Curtis had worked his way up through the finest restaurants in Chicago — Charlie Trotter’s, Trio, Alinea — and earned four-star reviews under his name at Avenues in The Peninsula hotel on the Magnificent Mile. Curtis could’ve booked her reservation at an earlier time. Curtis did so every few months from his Colorado home, over the injustices imposed on a 10-year-old boy: getting grounded, or having toys taken away. “We’ll go to the supermarket and pick up some food for you.” He stewed in the front seat of his mom’s car, and got as far as the supermarket parking lot. Even then, there is no running away from what you are. The Duffys would leave Colorado Springs in two weeks. What had been a steady job in Colorado Springs became a string of odd jobs in Johnstown, Ohio, 30 minutes outside Columbus: a lawn mower repair shop, a tattoo parlor, whatever garage that would spare a few dollars for him.