"Hi!" she said to me, all cheery and chirpy. "Want to dance?"

"No thanks," I said. "I'm just a tourist."

"Me too!" she squealed. "Isn't this place too much? I'm here with my husband, Gene. He wants to see me slow dance with a woman!"

Gene looked very preppy in Dockers and a plaid sport shirt with a little horse stitched onto the pocket. He was swilling a drink. "Rum Coke," he said to me, leaning across his wife. "Want one?"

I shook my head no. "I have a gun in my shoulder bag," I said. "A big one."

Gene and his wife moved away and disappeared in the crowd.

Sally had an advantage at 6'4". He was swiveling his head, looking the crowd over.

"See him?" I asked.

"No."

I didn't like being stuck in the Liberty Ballroom. It was too crowded, too dark. People were jostling me. It would be easy for Sugar to come up on me here . . . like Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald. That could be me. One shot to the gut and I'd be history.

Sally put his hand to my back to steer me forward, and I jumped and shrieked. "Yikes!"

"What? What?" Sally yelled, looking around panic-stricken.

I had my hand to my heart. "I might be a tad nervous."

"My stomach's a mess," Sally said. "I need a drink."

Sounded like a good idea to me, so I trailed behind him to the bar. Every time he'd push through people they'd turn and look and go, "Hey, it's Sally Sweet! I'm a real fan." And Sally would go, "Shit, man, that's cool."

"What do you want?" Sally asked.

"Beer in a bottle." I figured if Sugar attacked me, I could brain him with my beer bottle. "I didn't realize you were so famous," I said to Sally. "All these people know you."

"Yeah," Sally said, "probably half the people in this room have slipped a five under my garter belt. I'm like regional."

"Sugar's here somewhere," the bartender said, passing drinks to Sally. "He wanted me to give you this note."

The note was in the same tidy little invitation-sized envelope Sugar had given Grandma. Sally opened the envelope and read the note card.

" 'Traitor.' "

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's all it says. 'Traitor.' " He shook his head. "He's wigged, man. Beyond Looney Tunes. Looney Tunes is funny. This isn't funny."

I belted back some beer and told myself to stay calm. Okay, so Sugar was a little over the edge. It could be worse. Suppose the guy who was going around chopping off fingers was after me? That would be worrisome. He'd already killed someone. We didn't know for sure if Sugar was a killer. Arson didn't necessarily mean he was a killer type. I mean, arson was remote, right? So no point to getting all freaked out ahead of time.

Ranger moved next to me. "Yo," Ranger said.

"Yo yourself."

"Is the man here?"