“Holy Saint Pete!” He started up, then eased back down again. “Doc — is that really you?”
Ben smiled. “It’s me all right. How are you doing, buddy?”
“How am I doing? How am I doing?” Miles was incredulous. “What the hell kind of question is that? You go trouping off to Shangri-La or whatever, you’re gone better than a year, no one hears a word from you, then one day back you come — right out of nowhere — and you want to know howI am? Pretty damn cheeky. Doc!”
Ben nodded helplessly and groped for something to say. Miles let him struggle with it a moment, then laughed and pushed himself to his feet, a big, rumpled teddy bear in business clothes.
“Well, come on in, Doc! Don’t stand out there in the hallway like the prodigal son returned — even if that’s what you are! Come on in, have a seat, tell me all about it! Damn, I can’t believe it’s really you!”
He hastened around the desk, his big hand extended, took Ben’s, and pumped it firmly. “I’d just about given up on you, you know that? Just about given up. I thought something had happened to you for certain when I didn’t hear anything. You know how your mind works overtime in this business anyway. I began imagining all sorts of things. I even considered calling the police or someone, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone my partner was off chasing little people and dragons!”
He was laughing again, laughing so hard his eyes were tearing, and Ben joined in. “They probably get calls like that all the time.”
“Sure, that’s what makes Chicago the great little town it is!” Miles wiped his eyes. He wore a rumpled blue shirt and dress pants. He looked a little like a giant Smurf. “Hey, Doc — it’s good to see you.”
“You, too. Miles.” He glanced around. “Doesn’t appear that anything has changed since I left.”
“Naw, we keep the place a living shrine to your memory.” Miles glanced around with him, then shrugged. “Wouldn’t know where to start anyway, the place is such a monumental piece of art deco.” He smiled, waited a moment for Ben to say something, and, when Ben didn’t, cleared his throat nervously. “So, here you are, huh? Care to tell me what happened out there in fairyland, Doc? If it’s not too painful to relate, that is. We don’t have to discuss it if you’d rather…”
“We can discuss it.”
“No, we don’t have to. Forget I asked. Forget the whole business.” Miles was insistent now, embarrassed. “It’s just such a surprise to have you come waltzing in like this… Hey, look, I’ve got something for you! Been saving this for when we got together again. Look, got it right here in the drawer.” He hastened back around behind the desk and rummaged quickly through the bottom drawer. “Yeah, here we go!”
He pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet, still sealed, and plopped it on the desk. Two glasses followed.
Ben shook his head and smiled with pleasure. His favorite scotch. “It’s been a long time, Miles,” he admitted.
Miles broke the seal, uncorked the bottle, and poured two fingers into each glass. He pushed one across the desk to Ben, then lifted his own glass in salute. “To crime and other forms of amusement,” he said.
Ben touched glasses with him, and both drank. The Glenlivet was smooth and warm going down. The two old friends took seats across the desk. Willie Nelson continued to sing through the momentary silence.
“So you gonna tell me or what?” Miles asked finally, changing his mind once more.
“I don’t know.”
“Why not? You don’t have to be coy with me, you know. You don’t have to feel embarrassed if this thing didn’t turn out the way you expected.”
Memories flooded Ben’s thoughts. No, it surely hadn’t turned out the way he had expected. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was in deciding how much he should tell Miles. Landover wasn’t something that could be easily explained. It was sort of like the way it was when you were a kid and your parents wanted to know about Susie at the freshman sock hop.