“You’re fucking drunk,” Ben said. He had lowered his voice. “Go home with this piece of shit, then. Go ahead.”

“What? I’m not drunk. Shit on you. You’re back there with your girlfriend, aren’t you? I can do what I want, too.” Speaking at the same low volume. Ronny pulled away. Embarrassed already. He walked toward Judson at the door. They stumbled into the cold air, walked a few steps, toward Franklin Street. Muffled music coming from inside, draining to quiet, traffic passing on the street, someone shouting from a truck with its windows open. The cold stood him upright. He was suddenly sober now. Quick as that. So much adrenaline.

They were watching each other, Judson and he. Judson shaking his head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Ronny said. “Don’t ask.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Puzzled, wondering what he ought to do, flipping hair out of his eyes. “I thought that guy was going to kill me. You knew him?”

“I used to.”

They stood near each other. Judson was piecing it out. He turned, walked away a couple of steps. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Look, I had a good time. But I better go home.”

“You sure? You want me to walk you?”

“You better not.”

“Wow. Kind of crazy. Okay. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.”

They saw each other very starkly, and Judson no longer appeared soft or friendly. He walked away. Made it a few steps. Turned back and spread his hands, his body so lanky, angles of elbow and knees. You set me up. Did he say it or did Ronny just read it in his face? He had figured it out, shook his head, turned away. Ronny stood there a moment, until the guy crossed the street, passing in front of the Carolina Theater. “Sorry,” Ronny whispered. So you let the nice guy walk away. The preacher’s kid who shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders, pulled a wool hat over his head. Ronny stood in the wind, turned toward the road. Maybe stood there awhile, seeing Ben’s face, that anger, the hand closing to a fist. He crossed the street, meaning to walk through the parking lot of University Square to the boardinghouse just on the other side. But a car roared into the parking lot ahead of him, slammed to a stop, and somebody got out. Ben stood at the driver’s door. He was bellowing air, nostrils flared, face flushed. “Where’s your little friend?”

Ronny froze where he was. Close enough to see that something was raging in Ben, that his face was purpled with anger; pushed to the edge of something, he was squared on his feet to fight it, whatever it was. Jealous. The thought flashed through Ronny, that Ben was the picture of what Ronny felt like inside. He said, “Judson went home.”

Ben ground his jaw, pointed at Ronny. “Get in the car.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get in the car right now. Don’t fuck with me.”