He heard a shuffling sound, and seconds later, Tuck opened the door, flashing a broad grin. “Come in, come in,” he said in a booming voice. “Must be those shoes and pants I ordered.”

Tanner winked at his old friend as he made his way through the doorway. As he set the box on the living room floor, he noticed that Tuck held a walking cane in his left hand. After closing the door, he walked with a limp as he crossed the tiny kitchen. Tanner guessed the old fellow’s hip still pained him. Otherwise he looked the same, tall and lean with slightly stooped shoulders. His blue eyes held the same merry twinkle. Deep smile creases bracketed his mouth. His hair, still thick, was mostly silver, but a few streaks of brown remained to indicate its original color.

“It’s good to see you,” Tanner told him. “When your place went up for sale, I tried to call you several times and left you voice mails. Then I couldn’t get through anymore. I figured you’d passed away and your phone had been retired to a drawer.”

“Hell, no. I’m too ornery to kick the bucket just yet. Not to say it’s an outlandish thing for you to think. At eighty, I don’t buy green bananas anymore. They’re a risky investment.”

Tanner laughed. Tuck bent to open the box, plucked a can of beer from one six-pack yoke, and offered it up. With regret, Tanner declined. “I can’t stay, Tuck. My kids will be getting home in a couple of hours.”

Tuck straightened slowly, as if stiffness had settled into his spine. On his right arm he wore a red elbow-high cast that extended down over the back of his hand to his knuckles and encircled his thumb. “That’s a shame. I miss our bullshit sessions.”

“Me, too,” Tanner confessed. “I’ll try to come back for a visit when I have more time.” He bent to lift the six-packs from the box. “Where you planning to hide these?”

“In my boots and coat pockets. My beer’ll be warm, but that’s better’n nothin’.”

Tanner carried the twelve-ounce containers to the closet, opened the doors, and began slipping cans into the old man’s footwear. Tuck hobbled in with the roll of Copenhagen, which Tanner broke open before stuffing the rounds into shirt and jacket pockets. He couldn’t help but grin when everything was hidden. With a wink at Tuck, he whispered, “They’ll never know.”

“Damn, I hope not,” Tuck said. “My Pabst Blue Ribbon helps me relax at night. Without it I toss and turn. When I complain, the damned administrator just scowls at me and says to ask my doctor for sleeping pills. Like that’d be any better for my health? Hell, no. I like my beer.”

Tanner stared at him. “What are you going to do with the empties?”

Tuck winked. “They got a resident laundry room down the hall with two tall trash cans. I’ll sneak ’em down there and bury ’em real deep under other garbage.”