The Twoomey brothers were small-time button men for the Winter Hill Gang in Somerville, supposedly good with guns and driving getaway cars, but if a thought ever entered either of their heads it died from malnourishment. Bubba looked up from the pool table as we came into the back, bounded over to us.

“Hot shit!” he said. “I knew you two wouldn’t let me down.”

Angie kissed him and slid a pint of vodka into his hand. “Perish the thought, you knucklehead.”

Bubba, far more effusive than usual, hugged me so hard I was sure I felt one of my ribs cave in.

“Come on,” he said. “Do a shot with me. Hell, do two.”

So it was going to be that kind of night.

My recollection of that evening remains a bit hazy. Grain alcohol and vodka and beer will do that to you. But I remember betting on Angie as she ran the table against every guy stupid enough to put his quarters on it. And I remember sitting for a while with Nelson, apologizing profusely for getting his ribs broken four months ago during the height of hysteria in the Gerry Glynn case.

“’S okay,” he said. “Really. I met a nurse in the hospital. I think I love her.”

“And how does she feel about you?”

“I’m not sure. Something’s wrong with her phone, and I think she mighta moved and forgot to tell me.”

Later, as Nelson and the Twoomey brothers ate really questionable-looking pizza at the bar, Angie and I sat with Bubba, our three pairs of heels up on the pool table, backs against the wall.

“I’m going to miss all my shows,” Bubba said bitterly.

“They have TV in prison,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but they’re monopolized by either the brothers or the Aryans. So you’re either watching sitcoms on Fox or Chuck Norris movies. Either way, it sucks.”

“We can tape your shows for you,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” Angie said.

“It’s not a problem? I don’t want to put you out.”

“No problem,” I said.

“Good,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s my list.”

Angie and I looked at it.

“Tiny Toons?” I said. “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman?”

He leaned in to me, his huge face an inch from mine. “There’s a problem?”

“Nope,” I said. “No problem.”

“Entertainment Tonight,” Angie said. “You want a full year’s worth of Entertainment Tonight?”

“I like to keep up with the stars,” Bubba said and belched loudly.

“You never know when you could run into Michelle Pfeiffer,” I said. “If you’ve been watching ET, you might just know the right thing to say.”

Bubba nudged Angie, jerked his thumb at me. “See Patrick knows. Patrick understands.”

“Men,” she said, shaking her head. Then, “No, wait, that doesn’t apply to you two.”

Bubba belched again, looked at me. “What’s her point?”