Raymond sat at his kitchen table. Morning sunlight winked in through the blinds. Had LeBlanc parted the teal curtains, or had Marie left them that way months ago? The aroma of eggs and frying bacon and coffee made Raymond’s mouth water and his stomach gurgle as LeBlanc stood at the stove, spatula in hand.

      I don’t know how much of that I can eat, Raymond said, rubbing his temples. His pants were grass stained and dirty.

      It ain’t for you. LeBlanc took the bacon out of the skillet and dropped it on a paper towel–covered plate.

      What are you doin here this early, anyway?

      Early, hell. I’ve been up since two, lookin for you. Billy Jackson over at the River Ridge called. Said you could barely stand up. He tried to take your keys. You threatened to shoot off his pecker. I half expected to find you in the goddam river.

      Well, you didn’t.

      Yep. You made it. And for all you know, you killed somebody’s wife on the way.

      Raymond recoiled as if LeBlanc had slapped him. For a moment, he said nothing as the blood drained from his face. Then the anger came.

      Maybe you better get the hell outta my house before we do somethin we’ll regret.

      LeBlanc pulled the paper towels from under the bacon. Then he dumped eggs beside the strips, set the skillet back on the stove, turned off the gas, and poured himself a cup of black coffee. Plate and cup in hand, he joined Raymond and ate three forkfuls of eggs and sipped coffee.

      Raymond sat there, fists clenched, watching.

      Finally, LeBlanc looked at him. This has gotta stop.

      What? You eatin me outta house and home?

      Marie died eleven months ago, and you’ve been drunk damn near every night since.

      I’m grievin.

      No. You’re wallowin. And I’ve been carryin the agency alone.

      I miss my dead wife. I’m sorry it’s inconvenienced you.

      You’re killin yourself. And if you keep drinkin and drivin, you’re gonna take somebody with you. Last night, a mother of three got T-boned at an intersection. The other driver was drunk as hell. He walked away. She didn’t. That fella could have been you. Then you’d be no better than the piece of shit that killed Marie.

      Raymond’s guts churned. His head thundered. Don’t say that. Just don’t.

      Or you’ll what? Puke on my shoes?

      Get outta my house, Raymond whispered. Get out, or I’ll kill you.

      LeBlanc ate his bacon and drank his coffee. His expression did not change. The Gradney case, he said. You remember that one? We took it right after Marie’s funeral. Missin teenager, just run off from home one night. I got stumped, and you had already crawled inside a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

      When did you become such a goddam mother hen?

      With the family breathin down my neck and you AWOL, I got desperate and called a psychic. Local woman, name of McDowell. She talked to the parents. Seemed to calm ’em down. Then she went in the boy’s room and felt—I don’t know—somethin. She said he was safe, near water, someplace with stairs and a fishin boat. Wasn’t much. I got me a guide and hit the bayous and swamps in a fan boat. Found the kid holed up in an old stilt house, eatin campfire-charred fish and workin his way through a keg of beer he stole from somewhere. Got no idea how he toted it all the way out yonder. Anyway, McDowell. I’ve used her on two cases since then. She’s good.

      Why do I give a fuck? Raymond said. The coffee smelled glorious, but damned if he would ask LeBlanc to fetch him a cup.

      Well, for one thing, she’s helpin keep our business above water, LeBlanc said. For another, you met her. In the office, three weeks back. I reckon you were too drunk to remember.

      What’s your point, Darrell? My head hurts.

      LeBlanc pushed the empty plate away and drained his cup. Your life’s passin by. You’re tryin to follow Marie, but you ain’t got the sack to shoot yourself. Well, I’ve had enough. If you’re gonna pussy out, you ain’t takin the agency with you.

      Raymond gestured toward the door. If you’ve had enough, get gone. I don’t see an anchor tied to your ass.

      I’m your friend. If I just walked away, I couldn’t live with myself. Not until I try one last thing.

      Nope, Raymond said. I’m sick of your tryin. And since you don’t seem to remember where the door is, let me help you out.

      He stood up, circled the table, and grabbed LeBlanc by the shirt.

      LeBlanc let Raymond pull him to his feet. Then he grasped both of Raymond’s wrists and headbutted him across the bridge of his nose.