Jake’s apartment was on the edge of his old neighborhood, far enough away from those narrow streets and row houses for Jake to feel surprised when he saw Monster lounging on the street corner as he pulled onto the driveway of his building. No mistaking that hulking form.

By the time Jake had parked behind the apartment building, he saw Monster ambling toward his car. Jake got out, locked the Mustang, and walked over toward him.

“Hi, Monster,” he said, trying to make it cheerful. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. How are you?”

Monster waggled a hand. “Mezza, mez’. Whatcha doin’, Jake?”

“I’m still at the university.”

Monster seemed to weigh this information as the two men stood in the parking lot in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon. Jake was bundled in his lined leather car coat and had a wool watch cap pulled down over his ears. Monster wore nothing heavier than a checkered sports coat.

“The word is that you’re gettin’ inta politics,” Monster said.

Jake felt his pulse thump. He nodded, “A little, yeah.”

Frowning a bit, Monster said, “The word is that some people don’t like that.”

“Some people?” Jake asked, working to keep his voice normal. Monster loomed over him like one of the Grand Teton mountains.

“Yeah. Here and there. You know.”

“What don’t they like about it?” Jake asked.

With a shrug of his heavy shoulders, Monster said, “I dunno, but they ain’t happy with you, Jake.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” Jake said. “I’m just giving some advice to Tomlinson’s campaign. Science stuff.”

“Yeah. I know you’re okay, Jake. But these guys, they ain’t happy with you.”

“What should I do?”

“Watch your step, Jake. Just watch your step.”

With that, Monster turned and walked away, leaving Jake in the darkening parking lot. Monster had no ill feelings toward Jake, he knew, but he also knew that if he were told to, Monster would break every bone in his head. In his mind, Jake heard a stern voice telling him, Remember, you have been warned.

Clyde’s Bar

CLYDE’S BAR

Amy Wexler frowned as Jake told her about Monster’s warning. The two of them were sitting side by side at the bar, she sipping on a martini, he nursing a Negra Modelo.

“I told you that Leeds has some tough supporters,” she said.

The bar was crowded with Happy Hour drinkers. It looked to Jake as though most of them were regulars; the two scurrying bartenders seemed to know what each new customer wanted the instant he or she sat on the stools. There was a restaurant farther inside the place but it seemed half empty at this early hour. The bar, though, was busy and noisy with conversations and laughter. Some golf game was showing on the TV up on the wall above the cash register. Muted.