A bellow. That would be Tom.

Mrs. Quinn led the way. Sometimes in these situations, for her own safety, the woman would tie the man to the bed. Devlin did not think that would be the case here. Mrs. Quinn was a strapping woman, as tall as Devlin, who was five-ten. Old Tom had had the weeps today, according to Cummings. So in spite of the raised voice, Tom might be really pretty docile. Lederer. If Lederer wasn’t a cop, this could take longer. There were things cops could say to cops, in the presence of other cops, that couldn’t be said in any other context. That applied to A.A., too.

Tom Quinn was sitting on the edge of the bed, nude except for a sheet over his skinny thighs, his head down, his sandy hair matted. In his mid-thirties, he looked emaciated and dehydrated. The place didn’t smell sour, which was odd—usually a drunk in his shape only had to pass through a room to foul the air. Devlin realized he was smelling fresh paint, only a week or two old. That could explain the bare walls as well as anything else.

Lederer was a big guy about Devlin’s age. He had the vein-blown, bulbous nose of a longtime heavy drinker. His suit was a brown pinstripe and the collar of his white shirt was wilted. Lederer extended a fleshy hand and said his first name was Bob. Tom looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. He hadn’t shaved in four days.

“Who are you?” he asked weakly.

Devlin said his name. “How are you doing?”

“Fuck you,” Tom snarled. “You’re not him. You’re too young. Shit, you look like you never had a drink in your fucking life!”

Devlin flashed his shield. As if its proximity made Tom lose his balance, he rocked on the edge of the bed. His head bobbed up and he gazed at Devlin blearily.

“Whatja do, have plastic surgery?”

“No, I got on the program,” Devlin said. “If I hadn’t, I’d be dead. If you don’t wise up, you’re going to die. When was the last time you went to a doctor? Do you know what that shit is doing to your blood pressure, kidneys, and liver? What about your brain, asshole, thousands of cells at a time? Is there enough left of it to remember the last time you had a real hard-on, and making love wasn’t a desperate struggle to prove yourself?”

Tom rocked again as he looked away. “Fuck you double. Fuck you, fuck you!”

“Don’t talk like a bad movie,” Devlin said. “You should get down on your knees and thank God you still have a wife who cares enough to try to help you. Right now you’re worthless and you know it, or we wouldn’t be here—”