Hoberman paused at each landing on the way down the stairs, too, and when we got outside he took hold of the cast-iron railing while he got his bearings. “You tell me,” he said. “Where’s the best place to get a cab?”

“Let’s walk,” I said. “It’s only three blocks.”

“One of ’em’s crosstown.”

“Even so.”

He shrugged, lit a cigarette, and off we went. I counted that a victory, but changed my mind when he steamed on into the Wexford Castle, an Irish bar on Lexington Avenue. “Time for a quick one,” he announced, and ordered a double shot of vodka. The bartender, who looked like a man who’d seen everything but remembered none of it, poured from a bottle with a label showing a Russian wearing a fur hat and a fierce grin. I started to say that we were supposed to get to our destination by midnight, but before I had the sentence out the captain had downed his drink.

“Something for you?”

I shook my head.

“Then let’s get going,” he said. “Supposed to get there before midnight. That’s when the late shift comes on duty.”

We hit the street again, and the drink seemed to loosen him up. “Here’s a question for you,” he said. “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

“It’s a question, all right.”

“Known that fellow a long time, have you?”

Thirty-two hours, getting on for thirty-three. “Not too long,” I admitted.

“What do you make of this? When he told me about you, he didn’t use your actual name. He called you something else.”

“Oh?”

“I want to say Road and Track, but that’s not it. Road and Car? Makes no sense. Roadieball?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, but it sure wasn’t Thompson. Wasn’t even close.”