"From where?"
"LIC."
"You walked from LIC?"
"I had time."
"That was three days ago. Show me."
I lift the shirt. Reyes does not need me to peel it back. He reads field dressings the way a mechanic reads an engine through a closed hood.
He nods. I drop the shirt.
"Lucky son of a bitch."
"That's one word for it."
He hands me the coffee.
"Captain knows."
"I figured."
"He's doing what he does. Acting like he doesn't. Waiting for you."
I drink. Better than mine. On purpose.
"You in trouble?"
"Yes."
"The kind I can help with?"
"Not yet."
"Maybe not ever?"
"Maybe not ever."
He nods. He does not push. That is the language.
"I'll cover for you."
"I know.”
"You're going to owe me."
"I always owe you."
"This time it's bigger."
"I know."
He turns to leave. Stops in the doorway. Does not look back.
"Donovan."
"Yeah."
