“Oh?”

“He said in passing that Shannon has gone to the Keys for a getaway vacation. Will be out of town two or three weeks anyway. There’s some old gal friend of his down there he’s going to be shacking up with.”

I put on a wistful look. “If only I had an old gal friend to shack up with.”

“You want to get kicked again?”

We paid at the register and I collected my hat and coat from the blonde near the door. Pete approached and was his old smiling self again.

“Everything work out okay with Sheila?” he asked. “She came away in a good mood, Mike, so you must have behaved yourself.”

“Velda’s a calming influence.”

He was closing up, the place almost empty. Last call here was 1 a.m., and the clock was fifteen minutes fast, as was the custom in so many bars.

We stepped out into crisp autumn air—my favorite time of year. Traffic was light, and we’d have to walk to the nearest corner to grab a cab going in the right direction. I paused to give Velda a quick verbal reconstruction of the hit-and-run, painting the picture as best I could.

“Wouldn’t have happened,” Velda said, “if he’d parked in that ramp down the block.”

“Are you kidding? Rich guys hate to pay.”

An unfamiliar hand settled on my shoulder, hard enough to squeeze through the topcoat fabric.

“You better fucking listen,” a baritone voice snarled, “you son of a bitch…”

It was the bartender, his breath visible in the chill, coming out his nostrils like dragon’s breath.

Gino Mazzini was handsome in a Travolta sort of way, dark-haired, olive-complected with big teeth that looked nasty with that upper lip curled back. “You stay away from my girl—leave her alone! Hear me? Stay the hell away from her, old man, or I’ll put you in a damn wheelchair!”

I should have decked him then and there, but I might need to interview him later, and beating him to a pulp might alienate him.

So I said, “Cool it,” holding my hands out, palms open. “I’m investigating that hit-and-run and had a few questions for her. That’s all. She’s in no trouble, and you may have noticed I already have a girl.”

I saw it coming, the sucker punch that would have brought up my steak sandwich, and I bobbed to one side, my hat flying off, but that got me just off-balance enough for him to turn his missed blow into a swinging backhand that knocked me to the sidewalk. Now I was ready to see anything and everything that this prick could send my way, and that included the kick he aimed at my ribs as I lay sprawled on my side. I caught his foot in two hands in midair and yanked it like I was uprooting a small tree and the world went out from under him but obligingly came up to meet him, and the way he landed on cement on his back like that had to hurt like hell. His breath whooshed out like a dam bursting and now, as I got to my feet, it was my turn. I stomped on his stomach with one foot, like he was a big goddamn bug, and then stepped away as he curled up in a fetal ball, hugging himself, his moans stitched together with whimpering.