“Better than the doghouse.”

One-Two chuckles. Sometimes laughing is easier than talking.

He can tell Simon hasn’t heard about Betty’s move.

“You met Lincoln, then.”

“Yeah,” says Simon. He suddenly seems sad. “I’ll be damned if he don’t look just like Lester. Just like him.”

“There is that,” agrees One-Two.

They don’t mention Vera. How she dropped Lincoln at Betty’s house and left it that way. She never tried to get in touch after that. Neither man can figure that one out, they don’t know how to, and the blank space where understanding should rest has been backfilled with sadness and loss.

“What you doin with yourself?” asks Simon, switching the subject.

“Little a this … Keepin an eye on Betty.”

“Your eye’s got to be gettin tired after twenty years.”

This time it is One-Two’s turn to be direct. “A bit, Simon. A bit,” he says softly.

“Well, uncle. You never was the quittin type.”

They don’t know what else to say and instead pretend to listen for Dougan’s return, although they know he won’t be back. The boilers are silent, out of use for the summer. They will only see three more years of action, pushing the treacly steam through the radiators in the rooms above. The building is doomed, though neither Simon nor Dougan know it yet.

They sit a while before One-Two stands up. He rubs his belly with both hands and stretches. “I’d best get back.”

Simon stands, too. “Come anytime, One-Two.”

“Might do that. Can come our way too you know.”

“I don’t know.”

“You can.”

“Maybe.

One-Two turns and walks from the corner of the basement.

“You gonna be okay, Simon?”

“If I got anything to say about it.”

One-Two nods thoughtfully. I hope you do, he thinks.

When he emerges on Third Avenue it is dark, but he doesn’t mind the walk. It is August and the air is cool, and he knows the way home. He can be sure of that at least.

11