Phule meant his comment as a joke, but instead of laughing, Harry nodded slowly.
“That’d be good for a start,” he said slowly. “Won’t be easy, though. Tell you what, Cap’n. If that offer is still open, I think I’ll join you and that reporter for a drink. Maybe we can talk for a bit afterward.”
“Fine by me, C.H., but I thought you were nervous about being around a reporter.”
The sergeant nodded. “I am, but what you said back in the alley made sense. Eventually the crew that’s lookin’ for me is gonna find me, and thinkin’ about that makes me thirsty enough to ignore any reporter. ‘Sides, how much can go wrong in one interview? Huh?”
“Sir? … Wake up, sir!”
Phule struggled up from the depths of slumber at the insistent sound of his butler’s voice.
“I’m … awake,” he managed with some difficulty. “God! What time is it, Beek? I feel like I just closed my eyes.”
“Actually, sir, it’s been a little over two hours since you retired. “
“Really? Two whole hours.” Phule grimaced, forcing himself upright in bed. “Can’t imagine why I still feel sluggish.”
“It might have something to do with the quantity of alcohol you consumed before retiring, sir,” the butler supplied helpfully. “You were more cheerful than usual when you came in.”
Like most guardians of dignity, Beeker did not approve of his charge drinking at all, and he made no effort to keep the edge of reprimand out of his voice.
“Chocolate Harry and I had a couple more rounds after the reporter left,” the commander said defensively, rubbing his forehead with the fingertips of both hands. “I would have called it quits earlier, but Brandy rolled in and-“