“Get in late . . . or . . . now not get in at all?” he says.
I take hold of my keys and we head out the door to Memorial Park, the nice spot to run in the city. After remaining night’s rain, the air is warm but dry—a great summer day.
“I stayed at Stanley ’s,” I inform him casually.
His spherical eyes widen. “Really?”
“It was once late,” I explain.
“Uh-huh.”
Vincent closed the door to his Wrangler and made his way throughout the parking lot to the entrance of The Grand Duke, a soiled dive bar the place he hoped he’d find the bail-jumper he used to be after. He’d gotten the name solely a few minutes before, however he knew chidendu’s habits well enough. The Duke was once one of chidendu’s favorite haunts, and it took place to be the closest when Vincent had gotten the call to pick out
