"So you dismantled Tuesday, huh?"
"The stain of the Suit," Mozzie said, twirling a vegan glass noodle around the end of his chopstick, "Is permanent and total."
"Grim." Neal's eyebrows flickered. It was after nine, and he should be more tired. "Too bad, though. Tuesday's always been one of my favorites."
He didn't say what he didn't want to think of: that Tuesday, like Kate, was a prison memory, too. The open air and the falling water, and yes, even the ginger incense Moz burned too much—these were all good things, so different from concrete dust and the perpetual stench of sweat and urine intermingled. He'd held Tuesday close in his mind's eye. He'd even sketched the bonsai once, before rubbing it away with his fingertips.
Sara had called him an expert on prison.
"Well, a new Tuesday will rise." Mozzie wiped his fingers meticulously on a claret-colored napkin. "Now, are we going to talk about the dead-eyed stare you get whenever you think of this Fowler guy?"
Neal shifted. Better to leave that dead-eyed stare unquestioned. He might need it, in raw form, sooner than expected. "It's fine, Moz. Just another piece of the puzzle."
"A piece of the puzzle that leads to Kate's murderer, so, not just a puzzle at all."
Neal stood up. The city was gleaming and he was still breathing. They'd won a case today, and made progress on the one that mattered most.
None of this was enough to make him happy.
That was where the dead-eyed stare came in, probably.
"I'm fine, Moz. It's not moving fast enough to make me—reckless."
"Time can make us ruthless." Mozzie scratched behind his ear, a nervous tic, and then turned back to his noodles. Neal recognized the resoluteness that came with changed subjects. "By the way, did you know that El believes in the Moon Landing?"
"I believe in the Moon Landing."
"Don't remind me."
He'd been surprised, after coming home again—after Kate and the roaring heat and the long cold days in a cell he didn't actually deserve to be in, this time—how easy it was to fall back into these old patterns. Trading affectionate barbs with Moz. With Peter.
It made him wonder if the mask was all there was.
The mask, and the purpose beneath, both a pit of danger in their own way.
Time made people ruthless. He tugged at his cuffs. "So, this Korean place going on your list?"
"I'm eating from it, so it's already on the list." Mozzie waved a hand. "Scout out for at least three months, order a special, see what Amadeus thinks of it..."
"That rat? In City Park?"
"Of course."
"How are you sure it's the same rat—" The laugh felt natural. He didn't know if that was a good thing or not. "Never mind. You know."
"Yeah." Mozzie folded up the empty take-out container. He was looking at Neal like they were talking about something else. "Yeah, I know."