He gave it to me and I scribbled it on the pad velcroed to my dash.

“Hurry,” I said.

“I’m hurrying.” He hung up.

I looked at Phil. “It’s confirmed. Gerry’s our guy.”

Phil looked at the phone in my hand and his face was a mixture of nausea and desperation.

“Help’s on the way?” he said.

“Help’s on the way.”

The windows had fogged over completely and I wiped at mine again, saw something dark and heavy move out of the corner of my eye, near the back door.

Then the door opened and Gerry Glynn hopped inside and put his wet arms around me.

38

“How you guys doing?” Gerry said.

Phil’s hand had slipped into his jacket, and I looked at him so he knew I didn’t want him pulling a gun in the car.

“Good, Gerry,” I said.

I met his eyes in the mirror and they were kind and slightly amused.

His thick hands patted my sternum. “I surprise you?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said.

He chuckled. “Sorry. Just I saw you guys sitting in here and I thought to myself, ‘Now why are Patrick and Phil sitting in a car on Dot Ave. at twelve-thirty in the morning during a rainstorm?’”

“Just having a chat, Ger,” Phil said and his attempt at sounding casual came out sounding forced.

“Oh,” Gerry said. “Well. Hell of a night for it.”

I looked at the wet red hairs spreading limply down his forearms.

“You looking to get lucky with me?” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me in the mirror, then looked down at his arms.

“Oh, Jeez.” He removed his arms. “Whoops. Forgot how wet I was.”

“You’re not working the bar tonight?” Phil said.

“Huh? No. No.” He propped his forearms on the back of our seat between the two headrests, leaned his head in. “Bar’s closed at the moment. I figured, weather like this, you know, who’s going to come out?”

“Too bad,” Phil said and coughed out a ragged half chuckle. “Could have used a drink tonight.”

I looked at the driver’s wheel to conceal my fury. Phil, I thought, how could you have just said that?

“Bar’s always open to friends,” Gerry said happily and slapped our shoulders. “Yes, sir. No problem there.”

I said, “I don’t know, Ger. It’s getting a little late for me and—”

“On the house,” Gerry said. “On me, my friends. ‘A little late,’” he said, and nudged Phil. “What’s with this guy?”

“Well—”

“Come on. Come on. One drink.”

He hopped out of the car and opened my door before I thought to reach for it.

Phil was giving me a What-do-we-do? look and the rain was spitting through the open door into my face and neck.

Gerry leaned into the car. “Come on, guys. Trying to drown me out here?”

Gerry kept his hands in the pouch of his hooded warm-up sweater as we jogged to the bar door, and when he removed the right to open the door with his key, the left remained in the pouch. In the dark, with the wind and rain in my face, I couldn’t tell if he had a weapon in there or not, so I wasn’t about to pull my own and attempt a citizen’s arrest on the street with a jittery partner for back-up.