Harpo heard footsteps and stiffened. He wasn’t ready for company, couldn’t perform for strangers. Then Chico walked into the room, and Harpo settled down into the cushions again.
“I got you some coffee,” said Chico. “To make up for that night on the dock.”
“What night?”
“The night we left you on it.”
“Oh,” said Harpo. He craned his neck and saw that there were two mugs of coffee on the table in front of him, one brimming, the other mostly empty, both rimmed with a slick of coffee oil. “Thank you.”
“We did go back for you, you know,” said Chico. He was slouched on the chair like a real tough guy, like an 85th streeter at least. “You were already gone.”
If Harpo was going to pull this off, if he was really going to work with government men and boost a whole family from Russia, he’d nee
