Whisper’s joint was dark, the upper windows blank, blinds down over cigar store windows and door.

“I hate to start this without giving Whisper a chance,” Noonan said. “He’s not a bad kid. But there’s no use me trying to talk to him. He never did like me much.”

He looked at me. I said nothing.

“You wouldn’t want to make a stab at it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll try it.”

“That’s fine of you. I’ll certainly appreciate it if you will. You just see if you can talk him into coming along without any fuss. You know what to say⁠—for his own good and all that, like it is.”

“Yeah,” I said and walked across to the cigar store, taking pains to let my hands be seen swinging empty at my sides.