When Friday clicked off her cell phone, Lee, stabilized with union blood, sitting up in bed, in a double room with no roommate, reading—and with a stubby pencil furiously annotating—a Christopher Hitchens book, asked, “Harry?”
“He broke into the banker’s house,” Friday said.
“Banker, huh?” Lee said. “I hope he did a lot of damage.”
“Harry’s the one who was damaged,” Friday said.
“I’ll be okay,” Lee said. “Sounds like the guy needs you.”