“You’re replacing him. Corky’s okay, but he’s never logged a day in his life. Half the time, he’s lost on the dock. He’s an ex-junkie, and that s**t f***s you up. You’re smarter than that, aren’t you?”
“Smart enough to find my way back from the end of the dock, you mean? Sure I am — usually.” Hacki laughed. They had climbed the ramp and were walking along the dock, their footsteps in sync and echoing beneath them.
It was past 11:00 a.m. when they sat down at a table enjoying the view through one of the windows overlooking the dock. The sun poured in and was warm; Ethan relaxed in his chair. The bar scene was much different from what it had been Saturday night, although they were joining other patrons, and the room still reeked of decades of smoking. Hacki ordered two pints and lit a smok
