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Sagebrook.
    He’d long since reconciled himself with the direction his life had taken since that fateful night. Why not relive a few of the better memories with the Dirty Half Dozen?
    He picked up the phone and dialed Bob’s number.

Chapter Six
    Paul Hampton had to make the call. Bob’s invitation for the reunion was two weeks ago, and Labor Day weekend was next weekend. He couldn’t let it turn out this way.
    The retired New York City police sergeant had upgraded to working private security, but somehow the hours hadn’t gotten any better. He’d spent all night covering the transfer of a traveling exhibit into the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He wasn’t even sure what the art looked like since it was all crated into enormous boxes. The truck rolled in at midnight and rolled out by five a.m. One of these nights used to be a lay down, but recent heists in Boston and Europe put an end to anyone’s complacency about art theft. With pre- and post-delivery sweeps, it had stretched into an eight-hour day, or night. So finally home at nine a.m., he was wiped. But he still had to make the call.
    “Paul?” his wife Hallie asked. “Why aren’t you asleep by now?”
    Hallie stood at the kitchen door, looking down at Paul as he sat at the table, cell phone in his hand. Hallie was petite with jet-black, shoulder-length hair and bangs. She was fifteen years younger than Paul, a point his other retired cop friends kidded him about mercilessly. But he knew it was jealousy that sharpened their barbs. He’d landed a hot one in his second marriage attempt. He’d waited until he’d left the force to even consider marriage after the way the police lifestyle eviscerated his first attempt. Hallie was worth the wait.
    “No, Doll,” Paul said. “Got a call to make before I turn in.” He reached back and gave her stomach a caress. “How are you doing?”
    “I’m only six weeks pregnant,” she said and gave his hand a playful slap. “I’m fine, and there’s nothing for you to feel down there yet.”
    Paul had to admit he was terrified when Hallie had told him she was pregnant. Quick math said he’d be pulling Social Security when his kid hit high school, and memories of his high school years made him wonder how he’d survive the event. Plus, he’d never been a father. His experience with his own ended at age eleven when his father, Paul Sr., died on the job responding to a B&E. Parenthood was a rough sea to sail with an old creaky boat.
    But Hallie’s enthusiasm had carried the day. She was thrilled, and told Paul he’d be a wonderful father. Her extended family was five minutes away, and they were ecstatic and ready to help. By now Paul was fully onboard.
    “So, I’m going out for milk,” Hallie said. “What do you need?”
    “Nothing, Doll.”
    “You’d better be asleep when I get back,” she said. ”We’re bowling tonight and you’d better not be tired.” She kissed him on the bald spot on the back of his head and went out the door.
    Paul carried his cell phone out to the back deck. It was a classic Long Island August day, already thick with humidity by sunrise. The forecasters had promised a mid-nineties scorcher. The sun felt good on his face. He sat in one of the old, vinyl, ribbed beach chairs on the deck. His stomach rolled over his belt and into his lap. He cursed himself for getting so out of shape. Too many crappy meals and too many hours in Crown Victorias had really taken a toll on his former football-player physique.
    This tiny subdivision backyard was the only one he had ever known. This was the house he grew up in with his two younger siblings. The swings were long gone, and the grass had grown back where a succession of plastic wading pools had killed it. After his mother died, he’d moved back in. The price of decent real estate on the Island had ballooned to the point where his cop salary minus alimony couldn’t swing a mortgage, so the old homestead was a viable option. Plus, it didn’t