“Only one pitched in to help you.”
“My new partner. He didn’t know you, bought our act, too.”
“Did you tell him later?”
“No. I thought we needed to show the dirtbags how we’d do in a fight.”
“You did all right,” John said, working his jaw from side to side.
“So, mission accomplished. Thanks for the sacrifice. I owe you a favor.”
“Thanks for not pulling your knife on me.” John knew Mitch carried one in an ankle holster. “How close are you to nailing them?”
“Close, I think.”
“Be sharp, Mitch.”
“Always.” He downed the rest of the water, then set the bottle on the floor. “What the hell were you doing in that place?”
“Having a Coke.”
John knew the quip wouldn’t satisfy his intuitive friend, and he was right. Mitch squinted one eye and stared him down.
John leaned against the back of the sofa and linked his fingers over the crown of his head, trying to look casual and indifferent. “Just killing a Saturday afternoon. Went for a drive through the boonies. Thought about fishing but was too lazy to get the gear out. Got thirsty and stopped at the next place I came to, which happened to be that bar.” He shrugged.
“Uh-huh.” Mitch continued to look at him through his squint.
John rolled his eyes. “She was just a woman.”
“I noticed that right off. I’m smart that way.”
John thought of dropping it there, but curiosity wouldn’t let him. “How long had she been there ahead of me?”
“Fifteen minutes. Thereabouts.”
“Did she talk to anybody?”
“Except to order her drink, no. Sat over there all by her lonesome until you showed up. Is she someone special?”
“Special? Mitch. I never laid eyes on her until today. It was totally random. You saw. She paid for my Coke. I went over to thank her. We chatted. She said she had to go. I saw her safely past you reprobates and to her car.”
“A perfect gentleman.”
“On this particular occasion.”
Mitch grinned. “You didn’t score. Either that or it was a record-breaking quickie.”
“She bailed. No loss.” He gave another uncaring shrug. “How’s Angela? What does she think of the Fu Manchu?”
Mitch stroked the mustache, which extended a couple of inches below his chin. “Hates it.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, and stared down at the floor. “The mustache will be the first thing to go as soon as I get enough on these guys to win an indictment.” He raised his head and looked across at John. “I’m getting out.”
John lowered his hands from the top of his head. “You’re leaving the agency?”
“Yep.”
“You’re serious?”
“Angela’s pregnant.”
John sputtered a soft laugh. “Congratulations, man.”
His friend smiled sheepishly. “Thanks. It’s a boy,” he added with obvious pride.
“How far along?”
“Five months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Angela and I wanted to make sure everything was okay, find out the sex. And, sorta, you know, savor our secret.”
“You’re still sappy over that woman.”
Mitch placed his hands over his heart. “I confess.” But after a moment, he resumed looking down at the floor and turned serious. “You uh… you know how you felt after the Mellin girl’s case? Fed up? Disillusioned?”
The pleasure John had felt over Mitch’s happy news drained from him. He went as still as stone and said nothing.
“Shortly after the book was closed on that, I took you out in my bass boat. Remember? You were in pretty bad shape. About as low as you ever got. I thought a day on the water might help. I’d brought along a six-pack. You brought a bottle of Patrón.