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mattered one way or the other. In a flash of headlights and metal, Bobby Friedman had gone from being my friend to being my responsibility.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Driving would’ve been treacherous enough even if Bobby hadn’t consumed a six-pack of Schaefer while I iced down my shoulder and we waited for the storm to let up. My ankle was okay, and it didn’t swell up much at all. My shoulder was a different story altogether. I didn’t need to see the spreading purple bruise to know I’d been pretty badly banged up. It hurt like a bastard, throbbing as steadily as a bass drum.
    We had been listening to the Yardbirds, Bobby singing along as he straightened up the place. Who knows, maybe a close brush with death turned him into a neat freak. It certainly hadn’t improved his voice. He may have gotten past nearly getting crushed beneath the wheels of a Caddy, but I hadn’t. Never mind my aching shoulder; I kept replaying it in my head: the rumble of the engine, the pale headlights emerging from the white veil of snow, the car bearing down on us, the slight swerve. There was something else I couldn’t ignore — Mindy’s ominous warning.
    I brought up her name, but if I thought the mere mention of it was going to get a rise out of Bobby, I was bound for disappointment. He barely reacted, continuing to sing. There was no reason he should have reacted. He and Mindy were old pals — more than that, apparently — but given her warning to stay away from Bobby and his nearly getting turned into roadkill, I figured to see if anything had changed on his side of the equation.
    “What’s going on with you and Mindy, anyways?” he asked as Jeff Beck took a short solo.
    “I don’t know. She was kinda weird last night.”
    He cupped his hand around his ear. “Huh?”
    “Turn the goddamned music down, Bobby. You’re the one who asked me the question.”
    He twisted the volume knob on the steel-faced Marantz amplifier, its single dial glowing in the gloomy basement. “Sorry, Moe. What were you saying?”
    “I said she was kinda weird last night. Before I went to bail you out — ”
    “Shit! I owe you five hundred bucks,” he said, getting back to sweeping. “I totally forgot. I’ll get it to you soon, okay?”
    “Fine.”
    “So what were you saying?”
    “I was about to say that before I went to bail your ass out of the Tombs, Mindy and I had this really sweet phone conversation. You know Mindy, she doesn’t do sweet and romantic. We were all set for a little action and then to go out to dinner, but when I showed up here, she was crazed.”
    That seemed to finally get Bobby’s attention. His smiling lips went straight as a ruler. He stopped fussing with the broom and went to the fridge. “You want a beer to take the edge off the pain? I want a beer.”
    “Nah,” I said, “Suffering is my duty as a Jew.”
    He opened his first Schaefer and took a big swallow. “Suffering’s nobody’s duty, man. Mindy was crazed. How do you mean crazed?”
    “I found her outside smoking cigarettes and drinking Four Roses. When we got inside she practically raped me.”
    “And you’re complaining? Half the guys at BC would give their right nut to — ”
    “No, Bobby. It wasn’t like that. Something definitely happened between the time I spoke to her on the phone and when I showed up here. I’ve seen her in bad moods. I’ve seen her sad, but I’ve never seen her like this. She was like a different person.”
    Bobby got started on his second beer. He seemed unwilling to take a stab at explaining Mindy’s behavior, so I pushed a little harder.
    “Then, when we were done screwing, she started crying.”
    “I heard you have that effect on women, Prager.” Bobby’s smile returned as he finished off his beer. He went for another. “Mindy’s a lot of things, but she’s not a crier. She must’ve been putting you on. Or maybe Mindy thinks it’s her duty to suffer too. I mean, no offense, but she is dating you.”
    Bobby was