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do such a thing.
    Leona said, “It’s stopped raining. Why don’t you walk—”
    “No,” Ryan said sullenly. “It’s cold out, an’ I’m thirsty. Gimme a beer—gimme a beer an’ I’ll go.”
    “We’re not going to do that.”
    “For Chrissake, it won’t hurt you to be kind to a thirsty man! Harv has a kind heart, he’d give me a beer if I asked him. Him an’ Shelly, they’re good friends, like a port inna storm—not like you!”
    That’s right, thought Betsy. Shelly’s boyfriend had moved in with her. His name was Harvey Fogelman.
    Ryan’s tone had turned belligerent again. “Witch woman!” He glared at Billie. “I bet she’s converting you to be a witch, too, ya little witch! A lesbian witch, the worst kind! The kind that’d let a man die of thirst, wouldn’t even spit on him if he was on fire with thirst.” He sniggered. “Thassa good one.”
    “ Listen to me, ” said Leona and he turned clumsily back to face her. She leaned just a little bit forward, drawing his bleary attention. Her voice was low and intense. “Walk over to Shelly’s, Ryan. Walk. It’s only three blocks away. You’re right, she and Harvey are your friends, and you need a friend right now. You’re tired, you could use some sleep. Your eyes are all red, and your face is flushed. You’re tired, very tired, you must surely want to walk just those few blocks in the cool evening air, then lie down. You want to lie down and sleep, you need some sleep.”
    He started to nod in agreement, then his eyes widened in alarm.
    “A hex! You’re trying to put a hex on me! No, no, no you don’t!” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a metal ring, heavily laden with charms ranging from a rabbit’s foot to a pewter, Egyptian-style eye. He jingled this so wildly at her that she backed away. “Ha! You know it, you know this blocks hexes!” He repeated the gesture. “See? I bet it burns your eyes! Now, come on, Burning Eyes, try again, try ta hex me! You think I’m Adam Wainwright? No way! Come on, take your best shot! I dare ya! I double dog dare ya!” He laughed raucously, then stopped abruptly. “I didn’t think so!” he concluded, less certainly, because she was merely looking coolly at him. He turned toward Billie, who had put on the same cool expression. “Hah, hah, hah!” he sneered derisively and made his uncertain way to the door.
    “Hold it, McMurphy!” said a voice so laden with authority that Ryan halted instantly. Even in plainclothes, there was no mistaking Lars Larson for anything but a cop.
    Ryan said at once, “I’m not drunk,” a lie so patent that several people snickered.
    “Maybe not,” said Lars agreeably, “but your license is suspended. You’re not driving tonight.”
    “Who says I’m driving?”
    “I saw your car out front,” Lars said. “How did it get here unless you drove it? Give me your keys.” He held out one very large hand.
    Ryan looked at the hand for a few seconds, then up at the square-jawed face with its implacable sea gray eyes. When exerting his authority, Lars looked very much like a man whose ancestors had gone a-Viking.
    Without another word, Ryan reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small set of keys.
    “These the only ones you have?” asked Lars, taking them.
    “What, you think my protection ring can start my car?” retorted Ryan.
    “Fine. Come down to the station with a friend who has a license and I’ll give these back to you,” said Lars.
    Still without saying anything, Ryan turned and went out, pulling the door shut hard behind him.
    Lars returned to the table and so did Billie. The Committee heaved sighs of relief. Once again, Billie tried to conclude the meeting, but her words were cut short by a squeal of tires braking too hard and the ugly crunch of metal being torn and crushed.
    Before anyone else could even decide to move, Lars was out the door. The men who had been sitting at the bar ran out after him, as did Joey Mitchell. The