Gerry opened the door and swept his hand out ahead of him so we’d pass first.

A muted halo of yellow illuminated the bar itself, but the rest of the place was dark. The pool room, just beyond the bar, was pitch black.

“Where’s my favorite dog?” I said.

“Patton? Up in the apartment, dreaming doggie dreams.” He snapped the bolt-lock, and Phil and I looked back at him.

He smiled. “Can’t have any regulars stumbling in, getting pissed at me for closing up earlier.”

“Can’t have that,” Phil said and laughed like an idiot.

Gerry gave him a quizzical look, then glanced at me.

I shrugged. “Neither of us has slept in a good while, Gerry.”

His face immediately jellied into an expression of the deepest sympathy.

“I almost forgot. Jesus. Angie was hurt last night, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Phil said and now his voice was too hard.

Gerry went behind the bar. “Oh, guys, I’m sorry. She’s okay, though?”

“She’s okay,” I said.

“Sit, sit,” Gerry said and rummaged in the cooler. His back to us, he said, “Angie, she’s, well, special. You know?”

He turned back to us as we sat and placed two bottles of Bud in front of us. I removed my jacket, tried to appear normal, shook my hands free of rain.

“Yes,” I said. “She is.”

He frowned at his hands as he popped the tops off the bottles. “She’s…well, every now and then you get someone in this town who’s just unique. Full of spirit and life. Angie’s like that. I’d rather die myself than see harm come to a girl like that.”

Phil was gripping his beer bottle so hard I was afraid it would shatter in his hand.

“Thanks, Gerry,” I said. “She’s going to be fine, though.”

“Well, that calls for a drink.” He poured himself a shot of Jameson’s, raised the glass. “To Angie’s recovery.”

We touched bottles to glass and drank.

“You’re okay though, Patrick?” he asked. “I heard you were in the middle of the firefight, too.”

“Fine, Gerry.”

“Thank the good Lord for that, Patrick. Yes, sir.”

Behind us, music suddenly exploded in our ears and Phil jerked around in his seat. “Fuck!”

Gerry smiled and touched a switch under the bar, and the volume descended rapidly until the wall of noise became a song I recognized.

“Let It Bleed.” Absolutely fucking perfect.

“Jukebox kicks on automatically two minutes after I come through the door,” Gerry said. “Sorry to spook you.”

“No problem,” I said.

“You okay, Phil?”

“Huh?” Phil’s eyes were the size of hubcaps. “Fine. Fine. Why?”

Gerry shrugged. “You just seem a little jumpy.”

“No.” Phil shook his head violently. “Not me. Nope.” He gave us both a broad, sickly smile. “I’m aces, Gerry.”

“O-kay,” Gerry said and smiled himself, gave me another curious look.

This man kills people, a voice whispered. For fun. Dozens of people.

“So anything new?” Gerry asked me.

Kills, the voice whispered.

“Huh?” I said.

“Anything new?” Gerry repeated. “I mean outside of getting in a shootout last night and all.”