“So generous. Tell me, did you give what’s-her-name that option before the Lady had her killed?”

Jackal blanched. He stared at me for so long without saying anything that I almost wished I could take it back. “I’m drunk,” I started to say, but Jackal just shook his head. After a moment, I said, “What were you going to say? About the Lady?” I didn’t think he knew the name Rita Palmer, but I wondered what he had pieced together over the years.

“Nothing,” Jackal said. “What do I know, anyway?”

We both stewed in silence for a bit until Jackal stood up, went to the kitchen, and brought us each a glass of water. “To sober up,” he said.

I reached forward and turned on the TV. I curled into him—I wouldn’t call it cuddling, exactly, but if you squinted, it wasn’t such a stretch to call it a loverly thing to do. He didn’t try to kiss me, but he stroked my hair, my back, lulling me into a drowsy half-awakeness. I could feel the yes and no of him inside me even then, the thing that pulled him close and the thing that pushed him away. Maybe one and the same.

I finished my bottle of wine, and when I was done, Jackal silently handed me his. It was near midnight when he stood up—my head completely soggy by then—and told me it was time for him to go.

I walked him to his car. No long, drawn out goodbyes for us. Three years had taught us both that; it wasn’t our style. And it had been only three years. Of what? Nothing worth crying over. Nothing I couldn’t do without. Instead, I tried to focus on the car, which was swimming in front of me.

“You have all your things packed in there? How did you manage that?”

“I travel light,” Jackal said. “Except for that fifteen large.” He unlocked his car and fiddled with the keys.

“Adios, my lovely,” I said, making a joke of it. “My best to the woman you’ll be screwing tomorrow night. I’ll think of you if you think of me.”

Even then, Jackal didn’t know how to be soft. His fingers crept around the back of my neck, like he might choke me—once more, for old time’s sake—and his thumb stroked the hollow at the base of my throat.

He leaned in to kiss me, and I reached up to meet him, then changed my mind at the last second and pulled back. “The St. Leo. Just tell me,” I whispered.

“Lou asked me to swing by the Albatross,” he said. “Pick up a bill, and then . . . well, you can guess. I really did lose track of time.”