“I want to meet her anyway,” Claire said. She didn’t wait for a response, which was good because Archie wasn’t prepared to make any promises. Claire picked up Henry’s wrist and looked at his watch. Her eyes widened. “We have reservations,” she said to Archie. Even with the high heels she had to lift herself up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Happy birthday,” she said. “We love you. Despite all your obvious problems and weird proclivities.”

“Thanks a lot,” Archie said.

She dragged Henry out the door. Henry caught Archie’s eye as Claire pulled the door shut behind them. “Call me tomorrow,” Henry said. “Twenty-four hours.”

Archie stood in his apartment alone. The cloud cover out the window was the color of ash. The Willamette River looked like molten silver. Archie finished his drink and then called Rachel. He got her voice mail.

“Something’s come up,” Archie said. “I have to work.” With someone else he might have had to apologize or explain more, but he and Rachel had different rules. “But,” Archie added, “I’m hoping I can get a rain check on that birthday present.”

He ended the call and put the phone in his pocket. Then he loaded his gun and clipped the holster to the waistband of his pants. He smiled to himself. Now he looked like James Bond.

Lastly, Archie headed into the bathroom. He opened his medicine chest and pulled out a large amber prescription bottle marked PRILOSEC and tapped out ten Vicodin into his palm. He’d been clean, more or less, for a year, and while he’d been in rehab, Henry had done a banner job rooting through Archie’s apartment and disposing of every pain pill he could find. But the one place that people never looked was right in plain sight. All Archie had done was switch out the pills. If his stomach ever started burning and he needed a Prilosec he was screwed.

He didn’t use the pills. He just liked knowing they were there. Now he gently transferred the Vicodin into his old brass pillbox. It had been a long time since he’d carried that thing around in his pocket, but if he was going to play the role of the self-destructive detective, he needed the right props.

Archie gave the pillbox a shake. The familiar sound of the pills rattling against the metal confines of the box made his mouth water. But he swallowed hard and tucked the pillbox in the pocket of his tux.

He glanced at his watch. He’d been forty-two years old for seven minutes now.

So far, so good.

Chapter 8

CHAPTER

8