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  “The floor of your bus?” Colt interrupted. “You were scattering marijuana along the thruway through a hole in the floor of your bus?”

  “Well, I tried to. Remember how I told you it was all rusted out? But it took forever. A handful at a time, you know, so no one would get suspicious, and I’m still trying to steer, y’know. It was a little on the tricky side. And by the time I got into the city I still had five bricks left. It wasn’t such a great idea. So I’m like, well, shit—I should just try and sell it. So I went up to Queens, and I found these guys on a street corner, and I asked them real casual- like if they were interested, and next thing I knew they were beat ing the shit out of me and helping themselves.” A mournful expression came over Michael’s face. “They took everything,” he said. “My dope and my bus. I’m lucky they didn’t kill me.”

  “I’ll say,” said Colt.

  “So then I needed somewhere to hole up for a while. I couldn’t even tell the cops about my bus, man, or they would have found out about the pot. It’s gone forever. And then I came here to see if you were around, because I knew you were back in the city, and I thought, I know the Coltster can’t stand me, but I was hoping you would understand and have mercy, man. You weren’t here, but when I tried the door—well, it was open. Why was that, by the way?”

  “Another long story,” said Colt.

  “Yeah, right. So—is Francie still mad at me?” “I didn’t know she was.”

  “She threw me out,” Michael said mournfully. “She told me it was time for me to grow up.”

  “Score one for Francie.”

  Michael looked doubtful for a moment. Then he gave Colt a broad grin.

  “Looks like we’re in the same boat!” he said. “She fired us both!” “We are not in the same boat,” Colt said. “We’re not even in the

  same ocean.”

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  “Yeah, okay, whatever. All I know is, here we are in New York, both of us all fucked up, and no Francie. You know, if she was here she’d be all like making us chicken soup and stuff.” Michael sighed nostalgically. “The universe is trying to tell us something,” he said. “That’s why we both got our asses kicked. It’s trying to say that we were on the wrong track. Francie was right about me, dude. She was right about you, too. We’re both a couple of losers.” Colt decided to let that comment slide—he didn’t have the en ergy for an argument. “Look. How long were you planning on

  staying?” he asked.

  “Well—I don’t know. I don’t have any money, see. Or vehicle. Matter of fact—I’m pretty much the way I was when I was born. I got nothing. Not a thing. So I was sort of hoping that maybe I could, you know, hang out here for a little bit until I get back on my feet again?”

  Colt rubbed his forehead.

  “That’s cool,” said Michael, getting up before he had a chance to speak. “I just thought you might need some help. But whatever. Just let me get my shoes and I’ll—”

  “No, wait,” said Colt.

  Michael sat down again expectantly.

  “I do need help,” said Colt. “I can’t—I’m working on one arm, here. I need someone to—”

  “I won’t wipe your ass,” said Michael quickly. “But I can do everything else.”

  “I can wipe my own ass,” Colt said testily. “Jesus, I didn’t say I was totally helpless. But I can’t get dressed by myself. And I need someone to go shopping and get food, and do the cooking and the cleaning and all the rest of it. I was going to hire someone, a pri vate nurse or something, but as long you’re here, you might as well do it. If you want.”

  “Okay,” said Michael brightly. “How does five hundred a week sound? I can—”

  “How does room and board sound?” Colt said. “If you think

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  I’m paying you, you’re crazy. I’ll put you up and I’ll feed you, but that’s it. At least for the first little while. After all the freeloading you’ve done, I think that’s a fair deal.”

  “Right you are,” said Michael. “A fair deal it is.” He giggled. “You know, it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? I mean, here we are, you and me, stuck together, kind of like we were—”

  “Don’t,” Colt said. “The irony of it is almost too great for words.”

  “So, what should I do first?” “Laundry.”

  “Okay. Just show me where your dirty clothes are and I’ll—” “Not mine,” Colt said. “Yours. I can smell those jeans from

  here.”

  “Gotcha,” said Michael.

  In the morning, he decided he was going into the office. Not to work—he wasn’t ready for that yet. Just to walk in and show his face. He had to make an appearance if he was going to keep his job. Unless they’d already replaced him, that is. It was impossible to put on a suit, so he told Michael to cut a long slit in the left sleeve of one of his sweatshirts in order to fit it over his cast, and he pulled on his most respectable pair of chinos.

  “So, I’ll just hang out here until you get back?” Michael said. “No. You’re coming with me,” Colt told him. “You will open

  and close doors, you will pick things up for me and put them down, you will do everything that I cannot do with one hand.”

  “You seriously want me to go to your office with you? With all the fat cats and capitalist pigs?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find they’re not all that bad,” Colt said. “You might even learn something while you’re there.”

  Michael laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Capitalism 101. How to Exploit the Masses.”

  “Exploitation is on the twentieth floor,” said Colt. “We’re in Trading. And trust me when I tell you that the masses are per fectly adept at exploiting themselves.”

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  They took a cab to Sixth Avenue. When they got out, Michael stood and gaped at the structure of which Anchor Capital was a tenant, leaning back as the magnificent glass-and-steel wall of it faded away into nothing more than a point overhead.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “You watch those clouds go by, it makes you want to fall over.”

  “So keep your eyes on the ground,” said Colt, heading for the entranceway.

  Michael helped Colt through the revolving doors and pressed the elevator button. They attracted not a few curious looks from the other office people waiting there—Colt knew they made a du bious-looking pair. There was a time when he would have been mortified to be seen with Michael, with his shaggy, almost-dread locked mane and his unshaven face, but now he was beyond car ing. It was as if the pain he’d suffered through the last eight days had somehow cleared his head of all extraneous material—there were a lot of things he simply didn’t have the energy to care about anymore. They got out on the thirty-third floor and headed for the receptionist, who at first stared at them in bewilderment, then leapt to her feet.

  “Mr. Hart!” she said. “It’s good to see you!” “Yes, well, here I am,” said Colt.

  “Are you all right?” “I’m fine.”

  “I got a little banged up myself,” Michael said. “It happened up in—”

  “Michael,” said Colt. “Open the door, and don’t speak to any one unless you’re spoken to. That rule is in place until we leave the office again. Understand?”

  “Right,” Michael said.

  “Can you buzz us in, please?” Colt asked the receptionist. “Right away, Mr. Hart,” she said.

  ❚ ❚ ❚

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  He could feel all eyes upon him as they entered. There was a mo ment of silence as everyone took him in; then he was greeted with a barrage of shouts. Colt gave a general wave and headed for his desk, ignoring the questions that were thrown at him. When Bud dha and Raoul saw him coming they jumped up.

  “Holy shit, Coltie!” said Raoul. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Raoul. Bood. What’s up?”


  “‘What’s up,’ he asks us,” said Buddha. “As if he didn’t look like he’d just gone through a meat grinder. What happened, Colt?”

  “Car accident,” said Colt. “In Pennsylvania. I just came in to make sure I still had a job.”

  “Of course you still have a job,” said Raoul. “Are you kidding? I mean, you’d have to ask Forszak for sure. But you’re probably the one guy in the office who could take off for a whole month if he wanted to and still have a job waiting for him when he got back.” Colt tried not to show the relief that washed over him. He said,

  “This is my brother-in-law, Michael.” “What’s up, dudes,” said Michael.

  “See, Michael? They’re not so bad. Look, guys, I left some or ders hanging. I just wanted to find out what—”

  “We handled them for you,” said Raoul. “Colt, there’s—” “How did GE do?” Colt said. “Did the Erie company get that lo

  comotive order?”

  “Yes, and you made fifty cents a share,” said Buddha. “Congrat ulations. Coltie, listen, we’ve got some—”

  “And I had a stop order in for some tech stocks,” Colt said. “Are those still going, or are they—”

  “None of them hit the limit yet,” Raoul said. “Colt. Seriously.

  Listen a minute. We got some bad news.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” said Colt. “Where’s Joe?” He’d just no ticed that Joe’s seat was empty, and his things had been cleared off his desk—all except the dippy-bird, which for the first time in Colt’s tenure at Anchor Capital was standing still.

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  “That’s the thing, Colt,” Buddha said. “If we’d a known where you were, we would have called. Listen, Colt. I’m sorry to tell you this, but Joe’s dead.”

  Colt felt for his chair. Michael slid it behind him and he sank into it, suddenly as heavy as a rock.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Colt. “Are you serious? You’re not pulling my leg?”

  “We wouldn’t pull your leg on something like that,” said Bud dha.

  “Yeah,” Raoul said. “It happened last week.”

  “It was his heart,” said Buddha. “On the subway. He was on his way home, and he just keeled over.”

  “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. We were just talking about something like this,” said Colt. “About how you can spend your whole life . . .ah, crap. Poor Joe.”

  “I guess there was a med student on the train who tried to give him CPR,” said Buddha. “But he died instantly. Just like that. It was over in a second. Dead before he hit the ground, the coroner said.”

  “Funeral was on Monday,” Raoul said. “Everybody was won dering where you were.”

  “Where were you, Coltie?” asked Buddha.

  “I was in Allentown, in the hospital,” Colt said. “I got racked up on the highway.”

  “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah,” said Colt. “Soon as this thing comes off, I’ll be as good as new.”

  “Poor old Joe,” said Raoul. “I guess he’s making trades in heaven now.”

  “No, he isn’t,” said Colt. “He’s a public defender.” Raoul and Buddha looked at each other.

  “What was that, Coltie?” Raoul asked.

  Colt shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just kinda weird,

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  is all. Dream I had. How was the funeral? Did all his wives come? His ex-wives, I mean?”

  “Ah,” said Raoul. “Well—I dunno.” “Probably,” said Buddha.

  “Waddaya mean, probably?” Colt said. He looked at the other two. “You mean—you guys didn’t even go?”

  “Well, Colt, I mean, c’mon,” said Raoul. “It was at one o’clock on a Wednesday. If it had been on Sunday or something, then sure. But—”

  “I can’t believe it,” Colt said. “So his poor widow, or whatever she is, is supposed to keep him on ice just so you guys can fit it into your schedule? Bood, you went, at least. Tell me you went.”

  “Well, Colt, don’t get that way about it,” said Buddha. “Joe woulda understood. He knows the score.”

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Colt said. “Neither of you guys went? Did anybody from the office go?”

  “Forszak went,” said Raoul.

  “Forszak can afford to take off,” said Buddha. “Colt, don’t be that way. It was nothing personal.”

  “Nothing personal? How many years you been friends with this guy? Five, six? And you can’t even take the time to say good bye to him?”

  “I said good-bye to him when he left work that day!” said Raoul. “You never know when it’s gonna be the last good-bye! Okay, Colt? You just never know! And nobody ever got anything outa goin’ to these things anyway. It’s depressing, is all. It’s like— flowers and music and praying. When did Joe ever go in for those things, anyway? It don’t make sense. If he’d a had it his way, we all woulda gotten shitfaced and played cards or somethin’. Or gone to a strip joint.”

  “You go for his wife, not for you!” said Colt. He stood up again and put his face just inches away from Raoul’s. “You dumb mother fucker, you don’t go for yourself! You don’t go just because it’s con

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  venient! You go for the other people! You go for his family, so you can shake their hands and tell them how much you liked him! That’s why they have funerals, you assholes! For the living peo ple! Not for the dead! For the living!”

  “Jesus, Colt,” said Buddha. “Get outa his face, will ya?”

  “Yeah, Colt, what the hell?” Raoul said, backing up. “I know you’re upset. Believe me, we’re upset too. The whole office is—”

  “You guys are a disgrace,” said Colt. “You can’t take five seconds outa your money-hungry lives to say good-bye to your friend and of fer your condolences to his family? You make me sick. You really do.”

  There was silence. Several other traders had stopped what they were doing to listen.

  “We did keep an eye on your trades for you,” Buddha said. “We’re not completely selfish.”

  Colt threw his good arm in the air. “How long did that take you?” he asked. “Five seconds? If that?”

  “What, you’re pissed at us because you think we’re too greedy?” Raoul said. “There’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “It’s not that, for crying out loud,” said Colt. “It’s about draw ing the line! It’s about yourselves! Jesus, you guys! Didn’t you learn anything from Joe dropping dead? I mean . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’ve been sitting in a hospital for the last week, half outa my mind and with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling. I been doing a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking. And you know what I think now?”

  “What” said Buddha, sullen.

  “I think you shoulda gone. You really shoulda gone. Not just for Joe, you guys. But for yourselves.”

  The phone on Buddha’s desk began to ring.

  “Good for you, Colt,” said Raoul. “You’ve succeeded in making us feel like shit.”

  “Good,” said Colt.

  Buddha picked up the phone, listened, and said “Yessir.” He put it down again and turned to Colt.

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  “Well, Mr. Sensitivity,” he said. “Forszak would like to see you in his office.”

  Colt turned to look at Michael, who was standing against the wall, listening.

  “You wait here,” he told him. “I’ll be out in a little bit.”

  ❚ ❚ ❚

  Forszak always kept the shades in his office pulled low, to make it easier to see his computer screens. Instead of fluorescent lights, he had floor lamps, which cast a warmish yellow glow around his vast work space. The effect was comforting; it was like visiting a kindly grandfather in his living room.

  “Have a seat, Coltie,” said Forszak. “I wish you’d of told us sooner about your accident. Believe me, if I’d have known, I woulda called. I
just figured you were taking some time off, as is your prerogative. As one of my top earners.”

  “Poor Joe,” said Colt. “I can’t believe it.” He sat down on one of the couches that was against the walls.

  “Yeah, poor Joe,” said Forszak. “It was a shocker. He was a good friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

  “Sat next to him ever since I came in,” Colt said. “It just—it kinda makes you think.”

  “It sure does,” said Forszak. “It’s shit like this that can make you take stock of your entire life and wonder what it all adds up to.”

  “That’s it. That’s exactly what I mean.” Colt felt chagrined suddenly as he remembered Forszak’s story, and all the losses he had suffered. “Of course, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through,” he added. “But for me—”

  Forszak waved a hand dismissively.

  “It’s all relative, that’s true,” he said. “For me, a guy Joe’s age pass ing away is not such a great tragedy, not on the face of it. You can’t say he was too young, you can’t say he never had a chance. You

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  can’t even say he suffered. He hit the ground like a sack of wet ce ment. It’s sad for the ones he leaves behind, of course. But it only be comes tragic if he didn’t do what he set out to do. Maybe Joe left a few things undone, but at least he lived in freedom. He was able to make his own decisions about how his life would be spent.”

  Colt nodded. “You’re right there,” he said.

  “Now listen. There’s been a few changes in the time you were gone,” Forszak said. “I thought I should probably tell you about them as soon as possible, because there are some decisions that have to be made.”