“Okay, but you’re missing my point. People have needs, and no matter how many rules you pass, how many laws you make, they’re going to have them met, one way or another. People are stressed out more now than ever before in the history of the human race. Pressures from work, pressures from home, we’re trying to raise kids the same time as we’re looking after elderly parents, we wake up every morning with something new that hurts that didn’t hurt yesterday, like you’re bleeding from the ass or you can’t feel your toes, or maybe you’re getting cancer.” He waved his cigarette around, took another drag. “We don’t know whether there’s a hijacked jet out there with our name on it. Maybe the whole fucking world is going to blow up tomorrow. Some guy with a dirty bomb is gonna walk into the stock exchange. Who the fuck knows? People need some relief, and that’s all I’m in the business of doing.”

“Earl, your entire basement is a pot crop. If the cops find out, you’re finished.”

Earl grimaced, running a hand over his shaved scalp. “Life’s a risk, right, Zack? Surely you understand that.”

I said nothing. Most of my efforts of late had been directed toward minimizing risk. “How’s it going so far?” I could imagine Sarah asking.

“Do you even live here?” I asked. “Do you own this house?”

Earl blew out some smoke, nodded. “I got a bed upstairs, and a TV. And I keep the fridge stocked. I even manage to do a little bit of entertaining.” He gave me a sly grin, and a nod of his head toward an empty wine bottle and two dirty wineglasses over on the counter by the sink. “But I’ve kept the decorating to a minimum. Someone else owns the place, some Asian businessmen, I do the gardening, no one’s the wiser.”

I guess, without realizing it, I had been staring at the gun while Earl talked. He said, “You can’t be too careful, this line of work. Sometimes your Asian businessmen get in a disagreement with your Russian businessmen, you don’t want to get caught in the middle without a little reinforcement. But you have to understand, that would be a very rare occurrence.”

I nodded toward the gun. “Is that thing registered?”

Earl sighed. “Zack, were you a hall monitor in school? Were you the kid the teacher got to keep an eye on the classroom when he had to go down to the office?”

I didn’t say anything.

“I knew it,” Earl said, draining his beer bottle. “You mind grabbing me another beer out of the fridge?”

I obliged. A powerful rotting smell hit me as I opened it. “Shit, Earl, I think you might want to clean this out.” I looked in the vegetable hamper, where some celery was liquefying.