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HE IS SEATED AT the butcher block table, the table a little too rustic for his more refined tastes, drinking coffee that he’s just made, when Paul Harrington comes walking into his own kitchen, wearing slippers and loose pajama bottoms and an open robe that’s seen far better days, the way Harrington himself has.

Robby Sassoon sees that Harrington is also wearing a faded NYU T-shirt that once was probably a much deeper shade of purple.

If Harrington is surprised to see him sitting in his kitchen at six thirty in the morning, he hides it fairly well, even though Robby knows he’s rocked Harrington before he’s even fully awake.

They’re all tough guys until they’re not.

Mostly Paul Harrington just looks old, and tired, as if he hasn’t slept well, if at all. But a lifetime living on the margins, and pretending to be something you’re not, will do that to you.

“Okay, what are you doing here?” Harrington asks.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Robby says, then points to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Coffee?” he says.

“I can get it,” Harrington says.

He walks over, takes out the pod Robby left in the holder, replaces it with a pod of his own, and hits the button, studying the machine pouring the coffee now as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s going to encounter all day.

When the coffee is made he spoons far too much sugar in it and sits down across the table from Robby.

“We had an understanding,” Robby says.

“I’m going,” Harrington says.

“You were supposed to be gone already,” Robby says. “Out of the country.”

“She wasn’t supposed to call me for a couple more days,” Harrington says. “It’s not my fault she moved me up at the last second. I had some things.”

He offers Robby a smile made out of nothing. “Please don’t shoot up my house again,” he says. “I mean, what the fuck. We’re on the same team here.”

“But there’s a difference,” Robby says. “Only one of us is careless.”

Harrington rubs a nervous hand over the white stubble of his beard.

Being unshaven just makes him look older, the way it makes Sonny look older when he’s the one wandering around the house in what looks like a thrift-shop robe.

But the difference between the two old men, Sonny Blum and Paul Harrington, is that Harrington is the one with his balls in a vise.

Robby watches Harrington stare out his patio door to surprisingly lush gardens in his backyard.

“For the last time, Sonny’s got no problem with me,” Paul Harrington says.

Robby absently pulls on his earring. “You know how he gets,” Robby says. “Anxious might be the best way to describe it, as the years pile up on him.”

What was the line from Pippin ?

I believe if I refuse to grow old, I can stay young until I die.

“He doesn’t need to be anxious about me,” Harrington says. “I’m on an afternoon flight from Kennedy to Saint Kitts. I’m not coming back anytime soon, maybe not ever.”

He sips some coffee. Robby does the same. Harrington is still looking out at his flowers.

“Was it you who did Reese?” Harrington asks, not even turning his head.

“Is that a serious question?”

“No,” Harrington says, “and I guess I don’t have to ask about the flower girl over in Bridgehampton, either.”

“You don’t,” Robby says. “We’re all pulling on the same rope, right?”

Now Harrington turns to look at him. “I’ve done everything Sonny wants,” he says, “for a very long time.”

“Well,” Robby says, smiling at him, “nearly everything.”

“You can’t possibly think I was going to show up at that courthouse this morning,” Harrington says. “Give me more credit than that. They’re sending a cop to pick me up, but I’ll already be gone.”

“What happens when they issue a warrant?” Robby says.

“Does them no good if they can’t find me,” Harrington says.

He sips some coffee. “And just so you know? I could have handled anything that bitch lawyer Smith threw at me even if I did end up on the stand.”

“But now she’s not going to get the chance, is she?” Robby says.

“By tonight,” Harrington says, “I’ll be sipping a drink with an umbrella in it and looking for some age-appropriate companionship.”

“Who’s taking you to the airport?”

“Sonny’s limousine. Picking me up in about an hour. Which is more than an hour before my escort is scheduled to show up.”

He gives Robby a much longer look, as if trying to read him, like trying to solve a puzzle.

“I’m sorry you had to waste a trip here,” Harrington says.

“It’s like I was trying to say before,” Robby Sassoon says, walking over to the sink and rinsing his mug. “The older Sonny gets, the more of a worrier he becomes.”

Then he says to Harrington, “Mind if I make myself more coffee.”

Harrington doesn’t even turn around, just jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“You obviously know where everything is,” Harrington says.

He doesn’t see Robby smiling.

“So I do,” he says.