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Wars
. The impression was dead-on. “You hit ball a long way, do you now Eddie? But you must learn to use your power for good, not for evil.” He smiled.
    They clinked bottles. “To Danny,” Phife said. He drank, and then asked, “Did you see Boden at the press conference?”
    â€œHe let me have it for coming back to where my career started.”
    â€œAw, fuck that guy,” Phife said. “You’ve been eating his lunch since you got here.”
    â€œYou and I know that,” Eddie said. “But I can’t get noticed in Boston. Coming back to The Empire was a tactical move, to get back in the market every day, and to build the resumé for the big metro dailies.”
    â€œGive it time. You’re only starting your second year.”
    â€œThere wasn’t supposed to
be
a second year,” Eddie said. “I gotta move up. Since the mills died off this town has been Second Bananaville.”
    â€œYou’re dissing the birthplace of Jack Kerouac and Bette Davis?”
    â€œYeah, I’ve read the tourist brochures. Ed McMahon from the old Tonight Show grew up here, too. For Christ’s sake, he’s the biggest second banana in television history. And Charles Sweeney was born here.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œBomber pilot. Dropped the
second
most famous bomb in history, on Nagasaki.”
    Phife sighed and shook his head. From his jacket he produced a cloth sack and dumped twenty golf balls onto the roof. “People will do all kinds of insane things for what they love,” he said. “You’re doing what you love. That sucks if it doesn’t make you happy.”
    Eddie shot back, “And you’re satisfied here? Working your seventy hours a week? When was the last time you went out of your house, except to come to The Empire?”
    Phife let out a long, exaggerated sigh. He said, “I’ve been staying at home a lot. It’s a great thing to have a lady aboard with clean habits.”
    That had to be a movie quote. Phife was a former movie reviewer. He lost the job because he never hated a picture; he saw hidden brilliance in
Howard the Duck
. Eddie had no idea from which film Phife had lifted the line. Gordon wouldn’t tell him unless he guessed, at least once.
    â€œ
Kramer vs. Kramer
?” Eddie said.
    â€œNope.
The African Queen
.” Phife stumped Eddie most of the time, and Eddie had never snuck a movie quote past Gordon.
    Eddie saw Phife’s satisfied grin, and then shouted, “You son-of-a-bitch, you got a new woman!”
    The grin got bigger.
    â€œDocked the Titanic yet?” Eddie asked.
    â€œA gentleman doesn’t tell.”
    â€œThat means no.”
    Phife beamed. “But I ordered an armoire. Solid maple.”
    â€œFor what? For your rathole pad?”
    â€œFor her stuff,” Phife said, a little defensive. “A girl’s gotta know that her guy cares. And a little style never hurt.” He stretched on the satellite dish like a cat in the sun, a dreamy little smile on his lips. “I haven’t closed the deal with her, but the decks are clear. You should feel the Earth moving pretty soon.”
    â€œKeep it under six on the Richter scale, okay?” Eddie said, dryly. “Or you could be crushed by a falling armoire.” He bent—ouch! damn back was still creaky—and twisted his beer bottle into the pebble roof. Then he rolled a ball into position with the club and addressed it. The club was a four iron, the identical brand Eddie played, the weight of it familiar. He lined up the shot, eye on the ball.
    â€œWhat the hell happened with the shooting story?” Eddie said.
    Whack
. Pebbles sprayed up in a cloud. The ball sailed over the safety wall and started down the street below, then sliced hard right and banged off a Dumpster in an alley, ten stories down. The blow echoed through deserted streets.
    â€œYou’re not rolling your right hand