“I thought we were leaving the shrink stuff until after the job.”

Sally got up. “I’m going to the bar to see if there’s anything I can drink in this joint. The rest of you should all feel free to join me. Except for you, Coop. You don’t need a drink. You need to get laid.”

Coop gave her a sour smile. “Don’t worry about me. With money in your pocket, it’s easy to find friends.”

“I don’t mean paying-for-it laid. I mean actually laid. Less Scrooge. More screwed. By, like, a person you connect with.” At that, Sally turned and headed for the bar. Tintin gave the others a brief smile and went to join her.

Coop and Morty didn’t talk. Morty finished his drink. Coop swallowed his as fast as he could. It tasted like gummy bears and rubbing alcohol.

“I’m no Scrooge. I’m just being cautious,” Coop said.

“Exactly,” said Morty.

Coop looked at him. “You think I used to be more fun?”

Morty looked uncomfortable. He stared into his empty glass wishing he’d gone to the bar with the others. “It’s not a question of fun.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just you’re a little . . .”

“What?”

“You’re just more wound up than you used to be. Sally might be right. Maybe you do need a girl. I can introduce you around to some I know.”

“I already told you. I don’t want any setups.”

“Sure. Sure. But if you should change your mind. Maybe to celebrate after the job.”

“Please erase this entire line of thought from your mind. This conversation never happened.”

“You can’t pine away for what’s-her-name forever.”

“I’m not pining away. I’m just . . .”

“Cautious. I know,” said Morty. “Why don’t you come up to the bar with us? We’ll have a treasure hunt to see if they have people drinks.”

Coop leaned back against the wall. “You go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

After Morty left, Coop sat alone at the table. He looked around the Grande Old Tyme. To him, the crowd had the doomed look of people buying the bargain seats at an Arkansas Greyhound station. Coop knew he wasn’t a Scrooge. I’m a goddamn Christmas elf compared to this bunch.