That's because you just realized you don't gain much by pouring it on me, Herbert thought. You've already said I'm not a man. Attacking me is beneath you. On the other hand, this man had a beery brashness about him. He might just bring the heavy bottom of the stein down on his head. The Gestapo consider Jews to be subhuman. Yet they used to stop Jewish men on the street and pull out their beards with pliers.

After a moment, the man with the stein brought it to his lips. He took a sip and held it in his cheeks for a moment as though contemplating whether or not to spit. Then he swallowed.

The man stepped next to the wheelchair, on the right side. Then he leaned heavily with one hand on the telephone armrest.

"You were told that this is very private party," the youth said. "You are not invited."

Herbert had had it. He'd come here to reconnoiter, to gather intelligence, to do his job. But these guys had presented him with the "unexpected" which was very much a part of HUMINT operations. Now he had a choice. He could leave, in which case he wouldn't be able to do his job and he would lose all self-respect. Or he could stay, in which case he would probably get beaten all to hell. But he might-- might-- convince some of these punks that the forces which had defied them once were alive and well.

He chose to stay.

Herbert looked into the man's eyes. "Y'know, if I had been invited to your party," he said, "I wouldn't attend. I enjoy socializing with leaders, not followers."

The German continued to lean on the armrest with one hand, holding his stein in the other. But looking into the German's blue-gray eyes, Herbert could see him deflating inside, his hubris leaking away like air hissing from a balloon.

Herbert knew what was coming. He slipped his right hand under the armrest.

The only weapon the German had left was his beer. With a look of contempt, he tipped the stein over and slowly poured the contents into Herbert's lap.

Herbert took the insult. It was important to show that he could. When the neo-Nazi was finished and stood to only scattered applause, Herbert yanked his sawed-off broom handle from under the armrest. With a turn of the wrist, he pointed the stick at the neo-Nazi and jabbed him in the groin. The German cried out, doubled over, and staggered back against his colleagues. He was still holding the stein, clutching, it reflexively, as though it were a rabbit's foot.