Dave took the chicken from the oven and set it on a platter on the table. He closed the kitchen door and felt much better. Out of sight, out of mind, he told himself. “I’ll make the gravy, and, Kate, you can get the broccoli going.”

“Broccoli,” Kate said, a vacuous glaze settling over her eyes.

Shouts rang out from the alley behind Dave’s house, and the back door flew open. A man burst through the door and stopped in the middle of the kitchen. He was young, in his early twenties, and desperate-looking. He made a subtle movement with his hand and the gleaming blade of a knife flashed.

“Well, if this don’t beat all,” Elsie said, hands on hips. “What do you think you’re doing busting in here like that?”

He pointed the knife at her. “Shut up, you old bat, or I’ll make you look like Frank Perdue’s package of chicken parts.”

“Old bat?” Elsie’s eyes narrowed. She whipped the .45 out of her purse and leveled it at the man. “Drop that knife, or I’ll blow your eyeballs clear out of your head. And back off from the chicken. I don’t want you ruining my dinner.”

Howie ran into the kitchen with his pistol drawn, and two uniforms came through the back door.

“You’re a little late, Howie,” Dave said, waiting for his heart to start beating again. “Annie Oakley already nabbed him.”

“Sorry. He slipped away from us and made a run for it.” Howie looked at the gun in Elsie’s hand and muttered an oath. “You have a permit for that monster?” he asked Elsie.

Elsie, Kate, and Dave all answered in unison, “Absolutely.”

Howie made a disgusted sound. “Put it back in your purse. I’m gonna pretend I never saw it.”

Kate’s mother staggered into the kitchen. “Michael found a portable TV on the end table and tuned in to the football game. You don’t mind, do you, cutie pie?” she asked Dave.

“Hell no,” Dave said, stirring the gravy and feeling a little hysterical, barely able to keep from laughing. “How’s the game going?” he yelled to Mr. Finn.

“Notre Dame’s ahead by seven.”

“Good!” he called back. “That’s good, isn’t it?” Dave asked Kate.

Kate giggled. “Makes my day a lot better.” Her mother was practically drunk. Her father thought Dave was a bum. And their chicken had been caught in the middle of a police raid. The word disaster hovered at the forefront of Kate’s mind.

Dave read her thoughts. “And we haven’t even eaten yet.”

“We’re going to look back on this someday and think it’s funny.”

He put his arm around her and kissed her on the neck. “Your mother called me cutie pie!”

Elsie left at eight and Kate’s parents left at eight-thirty. Kate and Dave stood on Dave’s front porch and waved good-bye.