“It’s all going down the toilet. Your carrier might make it through the week, but when folks are down forty percent off their nest egg and don’t have money to vacation with—you’ll feel it by Christmas, that’s for sure. There’s only one employer that never has a downturn.”

Jesus Christ, someone please knock this guy off his high horse. But Pat was too drunk and tired to debate him. “Uncle Sam?”

“Law enforcement.” Jack joined Dan at the potato chip bowl. “Crime never goes out of business, Danny boy. You always have bad guys. I tried to tell your dad this years ago—tried to get him in at the FTC or IRS. Unlike the airlines, once they regulate, they ain’t gonna deregulate. Listen to me now, Einstein, before you run off to Princeton.”

“Want another, Agent Hurley?” Pat asked.

“Sure, Dean Martin, I’ll join you for a small one.” Jack snorted and gave an in-cahoots wink to Dan, who forced a smile.

Pat pretended not to stumble to the kitchen. One more and I’ll be on the level.

“Want me to throw that chicken on the grill?”

“I told you I was going to use the broiler.” Anne gave him the enough-already look.

“Just trying to help,” Pat muttered to himself, refilled two lowballs with bourbon and ice, and sulked back to the living room. His leg was not cooperating and he braced himself against the armrest of the chair as he sat down, knocking the doily cover to the floor. He picked it up and realized that he hadn’t sat in this chair since it was in his mother’s house. No one is going to hire a fifty-five-year-old actuary. We’re going to have debt. And then we’re going to have nothing. Pat drank and thought of that old rat-hole apartment on Willis Avenue, missing some story Jack was telling Dan about Colombian drug gangs. Anne fluttered in.

“Dinner in about ten minutes. I don’t know about this chicken. Apologies in advance. So how are John and Ryan?”

Jack futzed with the cheese and crackers. “John’s doing well. Does crew every morning on the Potomac in addition to football. Just got him an old jalopy to drive to Paul the Sixth and back.”

“Is he a junior?” Pat asked.

“Senior. Come on, Paddy, keep up, he’s two years ahead of Danny.”

“Right, and Ryan?”

“He’s good.” Jack’s enthusiasm for this line of questioning was noticeably shot. “Runs up my phone bill like he’s my daughter.”

Anne frowned and hoped her nephews weren’t as uncouth as their father.

“Okay, this chicken will be ready soon. Dan, bring the plates in. Let’s sit at the table. Can you put the leaf in, Pat?”