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pig.”
    “How about the rest of you? What can I do you for?”
    Gavagan’s has a nice selection of microbrews. I tried a Black Rock Porter, Sherwood picked out an amber Barley-wine, and Victor of course went for a single-malt scotch with a name I couldn’t pronounce.
    We talked shop for a while, speculating on Jessie’s motives, but of course we didn’t have any more information than we’d had this afternoon, so we didn’t get anywhere.
    After a while the place filled up, and I noted a couple of practitioners in the crowd, a man and a woman I knew vaguely, though I couldn’t remember their names. San Francisco is a small town for a big city. There aren’t that many practitioners living here, and if you live here long enough, you get to know almost everyone, if only by sight. It’s not so different in that way from the community of jazz musicians.
    It seemed like as good a time as any. I looked over at Victor, and he nodded.
    “Because I say so, and that’s good enough,” he said, voice a bit louder than usual. A couple of people nearby glanced over at us.
    “Yeah?” I shot back, a little louder. “You’re not the boss of me.”
    Timothy shook his head, Sherwood put her hands over her eyes, and even Eli came close to a smirk.
    “Weak,” he whispered.
    “Actually, I am the boss,” said Victor, gamely carrying on. “You’d do well to remember that, Mason, and I’ll thank you to show me some respect.”
    “Respect is earned, not ordered up like Chinese take-out. At least I have some respect for good food.”
    Okay, maybe we should have scripted this. You’d think that as a jazzman my improv chops would be strong, but they weren’t, not with this. And I hadn’t given Victor much to work with for a comeback.
    “Why don’t you go back to playing your guitar for a living, then,” he said. “Oh, that’s right, you tried that and failed. That’s why you came crawling back for a pay-check.”
    Now, that was over the line, even for a fake argument. Even when it was all for show, Victor had to win. I got pissed.
    “Go fuck yourself,” I said, standing up, and I meant it.
    I reached over and knocked his scotch out of his hand. It spilled over his expensive slacks, and his eyes tightened. I might have gone too far myself; he was pissed as well now. By now most of the bar was watching. Victor also stood up and for a moment I thought he was going to deck me. He’s smaller than I am, but he’s a martial artist among other things and you wouldn’t want to tangle with him for real.
    “Victor,” Timothy said warningly, and Victor relaxed just a bit. Timothy was the only one who could calm him down when he started losing it.
    “Just leave,” Victor said. “I’m sick of you, and I don’t need to put up with any more of your crap.”
    “Couldn’t have put it better myself.” I motioned to Lou. “Let’s go,” I said, and strode out of the bar without a backward look.
    When I got outside I realized I’d ridden over with Victor and Eli, so I had no way to get home. I ended up taking a bus, with the usual hassle about Lou, and then BART to the Mission. I was in a rather sour mood; even though the spat with Victor had been phony, there had been an undercurrent to it that left a bad taste in my mouth. And I could already see trouble coming from this. I’d managed to get myself talked into a dicey situation, and not even for money, either. I’d played a lot of cheap gigs in my time, but this was the first time I’d been suckered in by nothing more than a cheese omelette.

THREE
     
    I CALLED JESSIE THE NEXT DAY AND TOLD HER I’d reconsidered. I didn’t give her a reason.
    “Might I ask what brought about this change of heart?” she said.
    “Rent. Food. Victor hasn’t had much work for me lately, not that I’d take it, anyway.”
    “Oh? No trouble between you, I hope.”
    She’d surely heard about the fight at Gavagan’s, so this was my opening, my chance to rail against Victor, but I