"Laser tag?"
Heath nodded. "Pratt is a beast."
They pulled on their coats. Heath leaned across the rail and tapped knuckles. "Take care of yourself, Sully."
"You guys too."
Nora was at the service end with a tray of glasses, watching me. She'd been watching me for the last ten minutes.
By eight, the bar was full, and I was running on autopilot, turning the night into one continuous sequence of small, competent gestures. Pours. Reads. Tickets in and out. A guy at the rail tried to argue me into making him something off-menu for his anniversary. I got him into a Sazerac without letting him know it was on the menu the whole time.
At ten, I said goodnight to Nora. "You walking?" she asked.
"I'm walking."
"It's cold."
"I'll live."
Outside, I walked north with my hands in my coat pockets and my collar up. The eight blocks went fast.
The lobby was empty. A new doorman was in Martin's place. He was a weekend guy, and we nodded at each other as I passed.
On the way to my place, I saw a thin strip of light under Pratt's door. Thinking about Nora's suggestions, I walked past it.
I put my key in my lock and let myself in. I didn't turn on the overhead light, reaching instead for the lamp by the couch.
My coat landed on the back of a chair. I left my boots by the door and went down the hall to the closet.
I had to return to the kitchen for the chair, and this time I carried it to avoid any new scrapes. The closet smelled like a closet, slight cedar scent from the little bag Mom suggested I use to protect my one wool coat.
I stepped up onto the chair.
The box was where I'd put it, flush against the back wall behind the printer. I had to reach over the printer to get my fingertips on the cardboard. I worked it forward an inch at a time.
When I had it in both hands, I climbed down and set it on the kitchen table.
I carried the chair back and sat in it as I looked at the box.
Rumourswas on top. Underneath was the self-titled album, the one Bryan bought at the yard-sale. Half of the original price sticker was still stuck to the top right corner.
I lifted it out two-handed by the edges. I set it on the table.
I closed the flaps of the box and pushed it to the far end of the table.
The album never matchedRumours. That was the undisputed masterpiece in Bryan's eyes, but there was charm in the self-titled grooves. It was a band settling into themselves, the first recording after Lindsey and Stevie joined, according to him.
I was the last person alive who knew about the yard sale purchase, unless Bryan shared it with Cath. It was possible, but she would have likely dismissed it as peripheral information.
I sat with my hand flat on the cover. Mick Fleetwood and John McVie were featured there with John McVie using an illusion to appear to have extra-short legs. Bryan laughed every time he looked at it.
I picked up the album and stood. Shoes weren't needed. I crossed my condo to the door, eased it open, and stepped into the hall in sock feet, carrying the album in both hands.
The strip of light was still on under Pratt's door.
I walked up to his door. Bending at the knees, I set the album down on the doormat, centering it without thinking. I stepped back and stood there for a second.
I didn't knock and didn't wait for anything to happen on the other side. I went back to my condo and closed the door behind me.
