“Hold on,” I say.

I hurry back to the living room, look around. The only thing is the bottle of Oxys that isn’t prescribed to me. I put it under the sofa cushion. Bottle of Jameson can stay where it is. I’m still in my boxers and T-shirt, but I open the door anyway.

They give me a quick look-over, nothing that looks like concern, more like Didn’t expect this.

“Bad night,” I say.

“Can we talk?” Hurley asks. That means I have to invite them in.

“You have a warrant for obstruction or anything else to take me away with?”

“Of course not,” Hurley says.

Millhoff shakes his head.

“Do you want to get dressed?” Millhoff asks.

“I’m comfortable. Been loafing around lately.”

“Yeah, we can smell that,” Millhoff says.

“Sorry. Been meaning to take a shower. Come in, if you can tolerate it.”

I close the door behind them and walk to the living room. I sit on the side of the sofa where the Oxys are under the cushion.

I signal with my hand for them to have a seat.

Millhoff takes the armchair and Hurley the other side of the sofa.

I light a cigarette.

Millhoff looks at the bottle of Jameson.

“All the doctor prescribed me was Motrin for this shit. You believe that? That’s been my painkiller.”

“You okay, Frank?”

“I’m fine. Want to get back to working, though. Good news is the doctor said I’m healing fine; he’ll be taking the staples out next week. You guys want some coffee or something?”

“I’m good,” Millhoff says.

“Me, too.”

“What’s going on?”

They look at each other like Who should begin first?

Millhoff does. “Sorry we haven’t been in touch.”

“I don’t expect you to stay in touch, but thanks.”

“Talked to the boys in Alexandria yesterday, and it looks like they won’t be pursuing any charges.”

“Good to know,” I say, but I was never worried about it one way or the other.

“Want to share with you a couple of things,” Millhoff says. “Not that we have to, but both Hurley and I thought you should know.”

“You mean like how you’re obligated to share certain things with a victim?”

“We’re trying to give you some respect here, Frank.”

“I know. Go on. I’m just not myself.”

“Forensics took that folding knife you got stabbed with apart. Every piece. Found dried blood on the bottom edge of the tang. It wasn’t your blood. It was an unknown.”

“Tang?” I ask.

“A little part of a knife,” Millhoff says.

I snuff out the cigarette and light another one. They got my interest.

“Your informant, Diamond—” Millhoff begins.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” I say right away.

“DNA was a match.”

“How the hell you get it done so fast?”