The old biker with the curtain of hair – who Miriam can't help but think of as Gray Pubes – steps up behind Ashley. The other one, Hot Dog, comes in from the side, like one of the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.

Paleface disappears behind the bar and doesn't emerge.

Miriam takes that as another bad sign.

"I'm sure your two friends here are happy to let you take the shot over," Ashley says.

Gray Pubes shakes his head. Hot Dog mumbles something.

"My friends don't fuck with the rules," Fat Dude says.

Ashley just shrugs and says, "Okay. Fuck you."

Fat Dude moves faster than Miriam would have thought possible. Gray Pubes twirls Ashley around like a top, and Fat Dude pulls the pool cue, horizontally, up under Ashley's chin. It's drawn tight against his windpipe.

He hoists Ashley into the air like the Beanstalk Giant with Little Jack.

"I'ma squeeze the dogshit outta you," Fat Dude thunders.

Ashley's jaw works around a mouthful of gurgles and burbles as the back of his head is pressed into Fat Dude's copious muscle-tits. His legs start to kick. His lips go blue, and Miriam can't help but think back to Del Amico.

Miriam knows she shouldn't get involved. Best thing would be to slink out of the bar with the antifreeze bourbon under her arm, never give a look back. Of course, she's never been the Queen of Good Decisions.

She meanders over. She takes her time, and when she finally gets there, Ashley's lips have gone full purple, like two earthworms wrestling or making love.

Miriam tugs on the hem of Fat Dude's leather jacket.

"Excuse me," she says, mustering girlish politeness. "Giant man? May we speak?"

He turns his tremendous skull toward her. She can practically hear the grinding of stone as the mountain pivots to regard the buzzing gnat at his side.

"What's up?" he asks, like not much else is going on.

Ashley's legs start to go limp.

"That guy you're choking to death?"

"Uh-huh."

"He's my brother. He's… got problems. One, he's got bad manners. Two, his name is Ashley, and with a name like that, he might as well have a couple vaginas in his pocket, am I right? Three, he's at least half-retarded. Though I'm willing to put money on two-thirds retarded, if you're up for a friendly wager. Mom used to feed him lawn fertilizer when he was a kid, I think as some kind of retroactive abortion attempt."

Ashley's eyes roll back in his head.

"Now," she continues, "if you'd be so kind as to stop choking him and let me know what it is that you fine gentlemen are drinking, I think I have just enough cash to buy you another round before they close up shop for the night."

"Oh yeah?" Fat Dude asks.

Miriam offers up two fingers: a scout's honor, though it also looks like a proctologist's silent threat.

Miriam can see the tectonic plates beneath the man's rubbery skin start to shift. The cue pulls away from Ashley's neck, and Ashley drops to his knees hard, gasping, wheezing, rubbing his throat.