“Watch your door there. Sorry,” Panesa said.
“I’m a little close to the meter. I don’t guess I need to put anything in it?”
“Not after six,” said Hammer, who knew.
She thought how nice it would be to have a friend like Panesa. Panesa thought how nice it would be to go sailing with Hammer, or jet skiing, or do lunch or Christmas shopping together, or just talk in front of the fire. Getting drunk was also a thought when, normally, it was a big problem for the publisher of a nationally acclaimed newspaper or the chief of a formidable police department. Hammer had overdone it with Seth now and then, but it was pointless. He ate. She passed out.
Panesa had gotten drunk alone, which was worse, especially if he had forgotten to let the dog back in.
Being drunk was a rarified form of beaming-out-of- here, and it was all about timing. It was not something that Hammer ever discussed with anyone. Panesa did not, either. Neither of them had a therapist at this time. This was why it was rather much a miracle that the two of them, after three glasses of wine, got on the subject while someone from US Bank was pontificating about economic incentives and development and company relocations and the nonexistent crime rate in Charlotte. Panesa and Hammer hardly touched the salmon with dill sauce. They switched to Wild Turkey. Neither of them fully recalled receiving their awards, but all who witnessed it thought Hammer and Panesa were animated, witty, gracious, and articulate.
On the way home, Panesa got the daring idea of tucking his car near Latta Park in Dilworth, and playing tunes, and talking, with headlights out. Hammer was not in the mood to go home. Panesa knew that going home was soon followed by getting up in the morning and going to work. His career was not as interesting as it used to be, but he had yet to admit this even to himself. His children were busy with involved lives. Panesa was dating a lawyer who liked watching tapes of Court TV and talking about what she would have done differently. Panesa wanted out.
“I guess we should go,” Hammer volunteered, about an hour into their sitting inside the dark Volvo and talking.
“You’re right,” said Panesa, who had a trophy in the back seat and an emptiness in his heart.
“Judy, I have to say something.”
“Please,” said Hammer.
“Do you have a friend or two you just have fun with?”
“No.”
“I don’t either,” Panesa confessed.
“Don’t you think that’s rather incredible?”
Hammer took a moment to analyze.
“No,” she decided.
“I never had a friend or two. Not in grammar school when I was better than everyone in kick ball Not in high school, when I was good in math and the president of the student body. Not in college. Not in the police academy, now that I think about it.”
“I was good in English,” Panesa thought back.
“And dodge ball I guess.
A president of the Bible Club one year, but don’t hold that against me. Another year on the varsity basketball team, but horrible, fouled out the one game I played in when we were forty points behind. ”
“What are you getting at, Richard?” asked Hammer, whose nature it was to walk fast and rush to the point.
Panesa was silent for a moment.
“I think people like us need friends,” he decided.
Vs9 West needed friends, too, but she would never admit this to Brazil, who was determined to solve every crime in the city that night. West was smoking. Brazil was eating a Snickers bar when the scanner let them know that any unit in the area of Dundeen and Redbud might want to look for a dead body in a field. Flashlights cut across darkness, the sound of feet moving through weeds and grass, as Brazil and West searched the dark. He was obsessed and managed to get ahead of West, his flashlight sweeping. She grabbed him by the back of his shirt, yanking him behind her, like a bad puppy.
“You mind if I go first?” West asked him.