“Sounds like a sweetheart.”

“Great guy. Great guy. Don’t get me wrong, Quarry, I think you and me made a great team, too. Or woulda, if Broker had given us half a chance. But we didn’t have a chance to grow, to get to know each other, really.”

I knew Jerry, all right. He was a drunk and a talker. And it was a wonder he and Nick had lasted this long. As a team. And on Mother Earth. Nick would need to be an artist to survive working with this jackass.

“So is Nick staying here?” I asked, indicating our surroundings, knowing he wasn’t-he was at the Spur Motel.

“No,” he said. He laughed, for some unknown reason, and flecks of spit touched my cheek. I didn’t brush it away till he was focused on his next sip of Scotch. “Nick’s at the same motel as the mark. Handy, if you’re in the accident game.”

I shook my head slowly. “Man, I don’t think I’d have the stones. What are you doing at the Four Jacks? You aren’t staying here, right?”

His face fell. “Right. Nick…Nick’s got a rule.”

“Yeah?”

“He won’t let me stay any place that has a bar. He thinks I have a drinking problem.”

“I think you hold it just fine.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” His expression turned melancholy, the bleary eyes tearing up. “I mean, I have had to hear this shit forever. Every goddamn one of my wives, ’cept the new one, Wanda, has ragged and nagged and fragged me about my drinking. Can’t a guy fuckin’ relax in his own goddamn fuckin’ home?”

“Women can be such bitches.”

“Yes! Yes! And Nick can be such a bitch, too, for a man, let me tell you. Oh, I love the guy. Don’t misunderstand me. But never once, in all these years, has drinking caused me any trouble on the job. You know, I hardly drink at all on the job.”

“Well…aren’t you on the job right now?”

“Naw. I’m not even meeting up with Nick.”

“How do you mean?”