“Listen.” His voice dropped even lower. “Take this from a, uh, friend from around the way. But with what this city is facing in terms of fixing up vacant lots, they’re not in a rush. I don’t think they’ll care at all what you do with it. Clean it up, put it to good use? If they come knocking five years from now and you’ve basically done their job for them, for free, they won’t be complaining. You get what I’m saying?”

I spotted Rowan on the corner. I raised a hand in greeting. “You think we should fix it ourselves?”

“Exactly. I gotta go take the next call, but it was a real honor chatting with one of the greats. My buddies aren’t gonna believe it.”

I winced as my best friend reached me. “Thank you for your…advice.”

“God bless, and go Birds,” he said and then hung up.

Rowan cocked a lopsided grin my way before clapping me twice on the shoulder. “Are you about to punch something, big guy?”

I slipped my phone back into my pocket. Shoved open the door. “I’ll tell you at the bar.”

It was darker inside. Cooler. Two giant TVs displayed the bottom fifth inning of the Phillies game. Benny’s Bar hadn’t allowed smoking in years, but there was still a whiff of it in the air. An angry slew of curse words went up—directed at the pitcher on the screen—as Rowan and I moved through the tables to the stools.

The bartender gave me a nod of recognition. I held up two fingers, and he sent Yuenglings our way. Rowan perched on the edge of his stool, legs spread, elbow propped up as he took a swig. Rowan O’Callaghan had been my friend since we were four years old. He’d grown up next door to me, living with his grandmother Alice. Like so many others, her family had moved from Ireland to this part of Philadelphia when she was a little girl. Her accent was as strong as ever. Even Rowan picked it up a bit when he was around her.

Rowan and I had grown up together, gone to school together. Were brothers more than anything else. While I got pulled into boxing, he was a baseball player who’d gotten drafted into the minor leagues right out of high school. He’d even been called up to the majors before he blew out his shoulder. If anyone understood the pain and frustration of a career-ending injury, it was him. He was almost as tall as I was, rangy and too confident, with dark red hair and pale skin.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s that smile for?”

“I’m in a good mood ’cause I had a great date.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was past 8:00. “Did you leave her somewhere?”