Pratt's glass was most of the way down. I poured another without asking.
He looked at the glass. "That wasn't a yes."
"It wasn't a no, either."
A beat.
"That's how you do it," he said.
"I have an excellent record. You're my most stable section all night," I told them. "Don't go anywhere."
Heath lifted his glass. "We try."
I pushed back into the room. My shift unfolded with parallel attention for the next hour. Tickets stacked, and I worked through them. Part of my attention kept returning to the same place.
Heath talked. Kieran occasionally said things back, and Pratt mostly watched. He drank every so often and then set his glass back down. He wasn't in a hurry about anything.
I moved behind them on a restock run, turning sideways until my hand came down on Pratt's shoulder for balance. It was incidental contact that happened twenty times a shift in a busy bar, but this was Pratt.
I kept moving, retrieved the bottle, and turned back. He didn't move. He let the contact happen and end.
While I was busy building three drinks off tickets, they left clean. There was no announcement. Heath settled the tab and added a generous tip. They all stood at the door, wearing their coats.
"Good bar," Heath said.
"Come back. The fish won't miss you."
He grinned at that. Kieran buttoned his coat. He looked at me, then at Pratt, who was adjusting his collar one-handed, then back at me. He said nothing.
I was at the far end, and he turned toward the door with the other two, unhurried. I watched them the full length of the room and out.
I moved a glass about to go over the edge. The last call was quiet. The room had thinned to its holdouts. I wiped the bar inlong passes and let myself stop moving for as long as it took to breathe out completely.
Nora joined me at the service end in her coat. Already cashed out. Done.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
"How bad is what?"
"On a scale, one to you-already-know-his-schedule."
"I have a brand to maintain," I said. "This is still within acceptable limits. Goodnight, Nora."
"I'm leaving. I just want to know if I should worry."
"You shouldn't worry."
She studied me for a moment. "The guy at the far end," she said.
"What about him?"
"He watched you the way people watch something fragile that they want to carry without breaking it." She pulled her coat closed. "That's all I'm saying. Goodnight, Sullivan."
She pushed through the service door. I heard her say something brief to Tomasz in the back.
I walked home.
Chicago after two was the city in its work clothes, cabs running and a bus grinding through the intersection north of me. Less frantic than daytime, but not empty.
