‘Thought I should at least call and let you know that I was here and that I was staying a little while.’ ‘Very fucking decent of you,’ Harry Ivens replied. ‘Everything’s okay there?’ ‘No John . . . we’re all behaving like we’re seven or eight years old, and while you’re away we’ve been running around the place eating donuts and drawing on the walls with red crayolas. Someone even wrote a bad word on the paintwork near the elevator.’ Harper smiled. ‘Business as usual then.’ ‘So what’s the deal?’ ‘My father got shot.’ ‘You what?’ ‘My father . . . he got shot in a liquor store robbery. He’s in the hospital, St Vincent’s, and there’s a very good possibility he isn’t going to make it.’ ‘Jesus Mary, mother of God, John Harper! What the fu—’ ‘It’s okay Harry, it’s okay.’ ‘What the hell is going on? I didn’t think your father was still alive—’ ‘Neither did I, Harry, neither did I.’ ‘Christ, John, how the hell do you even begin to cope with something like that?’ Harper smiled to himself.
