gallons of wine from a one-liter bottle.
"Ah . . . look," he started, "that was just a trick, sort of . . ."
"Sorcerer!" someone yelled. "Warlock!" another charged. There was a general movement toward the door.
"Wait!" O'Leary called, rising. At that, there was a stampede. In thirty seconds the tavern was deserted—with the sole exception of the Red Bull. The big man—sweating heavily but still game, Lafayette observed approvingly—held his ground. He licked his lips, cleared his throat.
"Dem other slobs," he growled, "pantywaists."
"Sorry about the bottle," O'Leary said apologetically. "Just a slip on my part." He could hear the voices of a gathering mob outside. The word "sorcerer" seemed to ring out with distressing frequency.
"A little magic, that ain't nuttin'," Red said. "But they got a idear dat on account of you're a . . . like a phantom ya might stick a . . . you know, whammy, on 'em, er maybe split open duh ground and drag 'em down into duh Pit. Er—"
"That's enough," Lafayette cut in, noticing the increasing nervousness on the battered features as the man enumerated the possible fates of those who trafficked with spooks. "All I did was pour out a few drinks. Does that make me a ghost?"
Big Red smiled craftily, eyeing Lafayette's clothes. "Don't rib me, mister," he grated. "I know duh Phantom Highwayman when I see him."
O'Leary smiled. "You don't really believe in phantoms, do you?"
The Red Bull nodded vigorously. Lafayette noticed that he smelled of Chanel No. 22; apparently he'd overdone the perfume a trifle.
"On nights when duh moon is like a ghostly galleon," Red stated, "dat's when yuh ride."
"Nonsense," Lafayette said briskly. "My name is Lafayette O'Leary, and—"
"Now, what I got in mind, Bo, you and me, we could make a great team," Red bored on. "Wit' dem neat tricks you can do, like riding tru duh sky an all, and wit' my brains—"
"I'm afraid you're on the wrong track, Red." O'Leary refilled his glass for the fourth—or was it the fifth time? Lovely wine—and the glow was just as nice as though he hadn't dreamed up the whole thing. Would he have a hangover, he wondered, when he woke up in the morning? He hiccupped and refilled Red's glass.
" . . . cased a coupla joints dat I figger dey'll be a cinch to knock over," the rumbling voice was saying. "Duh way I got duh caper doped out, I keep duh eyeball peeled for duh city guardsmen. Dem guys is all over like fleas in a four-bit flop dese days. If youse ast me, duh country ain't no better'n a police state; it ain't like de old days when I was a nipper. Anyways, youse can pull duh job, an' pass duh swag to me, and while duh johns is busy tailing youse, I'll—"
"You're talking nonsense, Red," O'Leary interrupted. "Crime doesn't pay. I'm sure you're really an honest fellow at heart, but you've been influenced by evil companions. Why don't you get yourself a job—at a service station, maybe—"
The Red Bull's forehead furrowed ominously. "Youse try'na tell me I look like a grease monkey?"
Lafayette peered at his companion's rugged features through a light fog which seemed to have arisen. "Nooo," he said thoughtfully. "More of an ape, I think. An oil ape." He beamed, raising his glass. "Tha's pretty clever, don't ye agroo? I mean don't you agree?"
The Red Bull growled. "I gotta good mind tuh rip youse apart, spook er no spook—!"
"Ah—ah!" Lafayette wagged a finger at the other. "No threats, please."
The redhead was on his feet, swaying slightly. "I can bust a oak plank in two wit' one punch," he stated, displaying a fist like a flint ax.
"Sit down, Red," O'Leary ordered. "I want to talk to you. As a figment of my imagination, you should be able to tell me lots of interesting things about my psyche. Now, I've been wondering, what role has sibling rivalry played—"
"I can ben' a iron bar inta pretzel wit' one hand tied behind me," the Red Bull stated. "I can—"
"Red, if you don't sit down, I'll be forced to take
"Ah . . . look," he started, "that was just a trick, sort of . . ."
"Sorcerer!" someone yelled. "Warlock!" another charged. There was a general movement toward the door.
"Wait!" O'Leary called, rising. At that, there was a stampede. In thirty seconds the tavern was deserted—with the sole exception of the Red Bull. The big man—sweating heavily but still game, Lafayette observed approvingly—held his ground. He licked his lips, cleared his throat.
"Dem other slobs," he growled, "pantywaists."
"Sorry about the bottle," O'Leary said apologetically. "Just a slip on my part." He could hear the voices of a gathering mob outside. The word "sorcerer" seemed to ring out with distressing frequency.
"A little magic, that ain't nuttin'," Red said. "But they got a idear dat on account of you're a . . . like a phantom ya might stick a . . . you know, whammy, on 'em, er maybe split open duh ground and drag 'em down into duh Pit. Er—"
"That's enough," Lafayette cut in, noticing the increasing nervousness on the battered features as the man enumerated the possible fates of those who trafficked with spooks. "All I did was pour out a few drinks. Does that make me a ghost?"
Big Red smiled craftily, eyeing Lafayette's clothes. "Don't rib me, mister," he grated. "I know duh Phantom Highwayman when I see him."
O'Leary smiled. "You don't really believe in phantoms, do you?"
The Red Bull nodded vigorously. Lafayette noticed that he smelled of Chanel No. 22; apparently he'd overdone the perfume a trifle.
"On nights when duh moon is like a ghostly galleon," Red stated, "dat's when yuh ride."
"Nonsense," Lafayette said briskly. "My name is Lafayette O'Leary, and—"
"Now, what I got in mind, Bo, you and me, we could make a great team," Red bored on. "Wit' dem neat tricks you can do, like riding tru duh sky an all, and wit' my brains—"
"I'm afraid you're on the wrong track, Red." O'Leary refilled his glass for the fourth—or was it the fifth time? Lovely wine—and the glow was just as nice as though he hadn't dreamed up the whole thing. Would he have a hangover, he wondered, when he woke up in the morning? He hiccupped and refilled Red's glass.
" . . . cased a coupla joints dat I figger dey'll be a cinch to knock over," the rumbling voice was saying. "Duh way I got duh caper doped out, I keep duh eyeball peeled for duh city guardsmen. Dem guys is all over like fleas in a four-bit flop dese days. If youse ast me, duh country ain't no better'n a police state; it ain't like de old days when I was a nipper. Anyways, youse can pull duh job, an' pass duh swag to me, and while duh johns is busy tailing youse, I'll—"
"You're talking nonsense, Red," O'Leary interrupted. "Crime doesn't pay. I'm sure you're really an honest fellow at heart, but you've been influenced by evil companions. Why don't you get yourself a job—at a service station, maybe—"
The Red Bull's forehead furrowed ominously. "Youse try'na tell me I look like a grease monkey?"
Lafayette peered at his companion's rugged features through a light fog which seemed to have arisen. "Nooo," he said thoughtfully. "More of an ape, I think. An oil ape." He beamed, raising his glass. "Tha's pretty clever, don't ye agroo? I mean don't you agree?"
The Red Bull growled. "I gotta good mind tuh rip youse apart, spook er no spook—!"
"Ah—ah!" Lafayette wagged a finger at the other. "No threats, please."
The redhead was on his feet, swaying slightly. "I can bust a oak plank in two wit' one punch," he stated, displaying a fist like a flint ax.
"Sit down, Red," O'Leary ordered. "I want to talk to you. As a figment of my imagination, you should be able to tell me lots of interesting things about my psyche. Now, I've been wondering, what role has sibling rivalry played—"
"I can ben' a iron bar inta pretzel wit' one hand tied behind me," the Red Bull stated. "I can—"
"Red, if you don't sit down, I'll be forced to take
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