Stranahan said, “I’ll go get us some take-out.”

“Forget it.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“I got about five gallons of poison in my bloodstream, Mick. Some new formula, experimental super juice. I told ‘em to go ahead, why the hell not? If it kills just one of those goddamn cells, then I’m for it.”

Stranahan smiled and sat down.

“A man came out to see me the other day. He was using your name, Tim.”

Gavigan’s laugh rattled. “Not too bright. Didn’t he know we was friends?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. He was telling people he was you, trying to find out where my house was.”

“But he didn’t tell you he was me?”

“No,” Stranahan said.

Gavigan’s blue eyes seemed to light up. “Did he find your place?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And?”

Stranahan thought about how to handle it.

“Hey, Mick, I haven’t got loads of time, okay? I mean, I could check out of this life any second now, so don’t make me choke the goddamn story out of you.”

Stranahan said, “It turns out he was a bad guy from back East. Killer for the mob.”

“Was?” Gavigan grinned. “So that’s it. And here I thought you’d come by just to see how your old pal was hanging in.”

“That, too,” Stranahan said.

“But first you want me to help you figure it out, how this pasta-breath tied us together.”

“I don’t like the fact he was using your name.”

“How d’you think I feel?” Gavigan handed Stranahan the dinner tray and told him to set it on the floor. He folded his papery hands on his lap, over the thin woolen blanket. “How would he know we was friends, Mick? You never call, never send candy. Missed my birthday three years in a row.”

“That’s not true, Timmy. Two years ago I sent a strip-o-gram.”

“You sent that broad? I thought she just showed up lonely at the station and picked out the handsomest cop. Hell, Mick, I took her to Grand Bahama for a week, damn near married her.”