“It was done for him five days ago.”
We reached the Hideaway and stopped. We stood together on the sidewalk and looked up at it. The fire department had done a hell of a job, but then they’d had a hell of a lot of practice in the days leading up to the fire. They’d managed to save the building, though the interior was demolished. The sturdy old stone remained, though, the ancient walls and that massive door standing strong and steadfast.
“You gonna get it back up and running?”
“Hell, yes,” Draper said quietly. “No doubt, Lincoln. It’ll be back. I’m one of the only people on this block who actually had fire insurance.”
“Good. You belong behind that bar.”
“It’ll be a while before I can work the bar without turning people’s stomachs. I’ve got plastic surgery ahead, it seems.” He snorted. “Plastic surgery, and me a guy from Clark Avenue. What do you think my regulars will say when they hear that?”
“Probably tell you to spring for the boob job while you’re at it.”
He laughed. “You know, it’ll be a surprise if one of them doesn’t say something close.”
I nodded and turned away. “I’m going to take off, man. Get back up to the hospital, see how my partner’s doing.”
“Wait.”
I turned again and looked at him expectantly.
“Lincoln, I owe you . . . ,”he began, but I waved him off.
“Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear it. Not about owing people, about debts and balances and making amends. It can’t be about that, Scott.”
He frowned, shifted his weight, and hooked his thumbs on his belt, then took them off again. I’d never seen Scott Draper look so awkward.
“Listen,” he said, “I was thinking, maybe you and Allison could drop by later this week. We could grab a drink, have some dinner or something. Hang out again.”
I gazed up the street. “That group’s one name short, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. But that can’t be helped anymore. The others can.”
Cars buzzed back and forth along the avenue, crossing over the pavement where Ed Gradduk had died, nobody slowing. I watched them for a while before I nodded.
“Yeah, Scott. We can do that.”
He put out his hand. “I hope so, Lincoln. When I get the bar open again, I want to see you down here. And not just because I owe you.”
I took his hand. “I’ll be down,” I said.
I left him there in front of his bar and walked up Clark Avenue, the sun warm on my back. Joe had been asleep when I’d left, but he’d wake up again soon. I wanted to be there when he did.