“Well,” said the man, taking his place behind the bar with his legs far apart.
“A beer, please,” said Andrews.
“There isn't any.”
“A glass of wine then.”
The man nodded his head, and keeping his eyes fastened on Andrews all the while, strode out of the door again.
A moment later, Chrisfield came out, with rumpled hair, yawning, rubbing an eye with the knuckles of one fist.
“Lawsie, Ah juss woke up, Andy. Come along in back.”
Andrews followed him through a small room with tables and benches, down a corridor where the reek of ammonia bit into his eyes, and up a staircase littered with dirt and garbage. Chrisfield opened a door directly on the stairs, and they stumbled into a large room with a window that gave on the court. Chrisfield closed the door carefully, and turned to Andrews with a smile.
“Ah was right smart 'askeered ye wouldn't find it, Andy.”
“So this is where you live?”