He had a big, craggy face with somewhat comical, oversize features. He was heavily overweight, but even still his head was too big for his body, an effect amplified by the great oily black sweep of his hair, which he combed Ronald Reagan style. His white T-shirt, which showed Ian McKellen standing in front of a gay-pride flag, clung to the bulge of his stomach and his sagging bosom. (Across the top it read GANDALF IS GAY, AND IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, YOU’RE PROBABLY AN ORC.)

“What are we playing?” I asked as I sat down. Ralph took the bourbon off my hands, unscrewed the top, and poured an inch into a quartet of chipped mugs and plastic cups.

“An old, well-loved game,” Gallagher called. “Put on MSNBC and see how long Terry Gallagher can sit there before he loses his goddamned mind. It’s like putting a lobster into a pot of cold water and turning on the heat. They want to see how long I can take it before I start leaping to escape.”

“Someone open the window,” Loren Hayes said. “We’re on the third floor. Maybe he’ll leap that way.”

Ralph sat down with us. “How about Hearts? There’s four of us, we’ve got just the right number. Come on now, Mr. Gallagher. We turned the sound off for you. The bad woman can’t hurt you. We’ll keep you safe from all her reason and science and compassion.”

“Just keep your back turned,” Loren Hayes added. “If you look at her, there’s the very real possibility you might catch a glimpse of empathy and it’ll give you a sour tummy.”

Gallagher shot me a pleading gaze. “They’ve got me outvoted two to one. Any chance you’ll throw your support behind Fox? We’re missing Tucker.”

“I met a woman last week who got all her news from Walter Cronkite,” I said. “Boy, they sure don’t make ’em like him anymore, do they?”

The table was silent while Ralph dealt. Gallagher looked from me to Loren Hayes and back. Loren fanned his cards out and gave them a long, silent study.

I said, “Mr. Hayes, you know we’ve got a wheelchair-ramp attachment for the Bookmobile.”

“Oh, yeah? Where’d that come from? That’s new,” Hayes said. “We never had that when I was driving.”

“We lifted it off the newer Bookmobile,” Ralph said. “The one that was damaged.”

“If you’re ever in the mood for something to read—” I began.

“If I’m in the mood for something to read, I’ll order it online,” Hayes said. “I don’t think I’d want to borrow from the Bookmobile. You might try to offer me a novel that won’t come out for another ten years, and I’d be faced with the very strong possibility this old basstid is going to outlive me.” Nodding at Gallagher.

We played a couple of tricks without speaking.

“Did you ever change anything?” I asked. “Did you ever try to change anything?”

“Like what?” Hayes asked.