"Yeah." Eliot rubbed a finger across one gritty eye.
"Eliot?"
"Yeah?"
"Eliot. Can you come? The thing it … and it's spraying all over and it's a total mess and I'm so sorry to bother you, but Mike's out of town and I know I should be better able to handle stuff like this, but my dad used to do it and then Mike took over and then sometimes, you know, but …"
"Whoa, whoa, slow down."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's okay." He was dog-tired, but he could hear the panic in her voice. "First are you okay?"
She took a deep breath. "Yes, sorry, I got a little crazy."
"Okay. You're all right?"
"Yes."
"Okay, good. Who is this?"
She laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't start with that, did I? This is Cora from McRory's."
"Okay, great." He shook his head. "Now, what's wrong?" He was going to kill Hardison for giving her his number.
"The beer line, somewhere, and it's squirting all over, and there's like gallons of beer and it's going all over the cooler and the floor and…"
"Okay, okay. I'll be right there." He took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog of 72 hours without sleep.
"I tried to turn it off, but …"
"It's okay. I'll be right over." Eliot went into his apartment long enough to change his shirt, brush his teeth and grab the battered metal toolbox he kept under the sink. He drove to McRory's bar, parking his truck out back and coming in through the alley. Cora was standing near the back door, a pile of wet towels at the doorway and the smell of beer heavy in the air.
She dashed over when she saw him. "I can't thank you enough. We run so short on the morning shift anyway and Nick, he barely knows which end of a screwdriver to hold on to, and tell the truth, I'm not much better." She grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze.
"It's okay."
She led him to the cooler. A steady stream of beer shot up into the air, the wall and floor foamy and wet. "At least it isn't the stout."
Eliot ducked under the stream, and started with the keg, but the valve was off, so he opened his tool box and pulled out a wrench and got to work. When he stopped the leak he checked the other kegs and replaced all the washers. When he finished he swiped at himself, but his jeans and the back of his shirt were soaked.
"What are you doing in my bar at 6am?" He looked to the doorway to see Nate leaning against the frame.
"What are you doing in the bar at 6am?"
"It's my bar."
"You don't own it. It's your local."
"And now it's your local? Have you signed up at the beer keg repairman's union?"
Eliot chuckled. "Nah, Cora said if I fixed the keg I could have all the beer I could catch."
"Well done."
"Thanks."
"I thought I told you to go home and go to bed? When was the last time you slept?"
"I don't know. Wednesday? Same as you."
"No, I slept on the plane. Did you?"
"No, I don't…"
"Yeah, I know. So…" Nate ushered Eliot out of the cold storage and into the hall.
Cora was waiting for them outside, her eyebrows raised in question.
"All fixed. You're going to need to take an hour or so at some point and redo all the seals, but I've got it up and working."
"Oh, Eliot," she twisted a bar towel in her hands. "Thank you so much. My dad usually did all this stuff before he… and some of the stuff, I can't keep up on."
"Well, I can do it for you." Eliot picked up his tool box, trying to avoid Nate's frown. "I can do it tomorrow. I'll come in and change 'em all out, clear the lines and everything. It'll only take an hour."
"Oh Eliot, thanks."
He gave a grunt when she hugged him. "Make a list, if you've got some other stuff I can do." She hugged him a little tighter and he gave her a quick pat on the back, all the while looking at Nate. Nate gave him a glare, but it was all for show.
"Okay, I need to clean up in here." Cora pulled back, tossed her long hair over her shoulder, put her hands on her hips and surveyed the damage.
"Right, we'll leave you to it." Nate touched Eliot on the arm, getting him moving toward the door.
They left the hall and Nate steered Eliot toward the back elevator.
"Wait." Eliot stopped.
"No, you aren't driving home."
"But."
"No. You are exhausted and covered with beer. If a cop pulls you over, I don't want to have to break you out."
Eliot scowled.
"No."
Eliot opened his mouth to speak, but Nate cut him off.
"No."
Eliot scowled again and opened his mouth, but shut it again.
"Thank you for agreeing with me."
"Like I had a choice."
They entered the elevator and Nate pushed the button. Eliot spread his legs wide, locked his knees and closed his eyes. Nate watched. When the doors slid open, Eliot blinked his eyes open and moved forward.
"Did you just sleep, standing up, in the elevator?"
"Did I?"
"Interesting."
Nate unlocked his apartment door and waved Eliot toward the couch. "I'll get a pillow and a blanket."
"Okay."
When Nate got back Eliot was where he'd left him, standing very still, eyes three-quarters shut. Sound asleep, standing up. When Nate dropped the pillow on the couch, Eliot blinked.
"And now I know where the phrase 'out on your feet' comes from."
"Huh?"
"Never mind. I brought sweats. Shuck out of those clothes and I'll get them in the washer."
"I don't want to put you out."
"You're fine. Enjoy the sofa. It's very comfortable. Be aware, the team will be here about 3pm."
"But I'm here, in your living room, where your TV is and stuff."
"I'm going to bed, too, and I have a TV up there, and don't worry about it. Get some sleep."
"Thanks." Eliot shucked off his soggy clothing, leaving them in a pile on the floor, got into the borrowed sweats, spread the blanket out over him and in seconds was sound asleep.
Nate waited until Eliot settled and then picked up the clothes. He went to the washing machine, and went through Eliot's pockets. The phone, a pocket knife, two US twenty dollar bills in one back packet, two fifty euro bills in the other and a handful of mixed coins were put on the counter. Nate glanced into the living room, but Eliot was out like a light. The man was dead-tired, and yet he had one more good deed in him. Very interesting.