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Not a good sign.

"Still breathing," he says.

"Didn't ask that."

A rough laugh comes through the line.

"Still the same asshole."

"Answer the question."

"Been better."

I look out at the trees.

Four years ago, Mel called me looking for work.

He'd gotten out of the Army and was having a rough time finding his feet.

I wasn't doing much better.

One bad contract had wrecked my reputation. Jobs dried up. My name wasn't worth shit.

Mel needed a place to stay and somebody who'd give him a chance.

All I had was a motel room paid through the end of the week and a handful of numbers belonging to men who'd stopped taking my calls.

I gave him the numbers anyway.

Made a few calls.

Got nowhere.

He told me he'd manage.

Then disappeared.

"Where the fuck have you been?" I ask.

"Here and there."

"That supposed to mean something?"

"Means I made a few bad calls."

I wait.

He doesn't elaborate.

"Look, Colt. I know I went quiet. Wasn't proud of how things turned out."

"Never asked you to be proud."

"Yeah."

Another pause.

"I heard you were doing good."