Now, at nine in the evening, it was like a carnival. Joe made his way down the middle of the street, where men drank openly from bottles and you had to be careful not to step on a blanket where dice were being thrown. A barker called, “Pretty ladies for every taste,” and upon seeing Joe: “All ages welcome! As long as you’re stiff and not a stiff, come on in! Pret-ty ladies lined up for your delight!” A drunk reeled into him and Joe fell to the street and the guy gave him a glance over his shoulder and continued staggering. Joe dusted himself off. He smelled smoke in the air as some men ran past him carrying a dresser with clothes piled high on top. Just about every third man brandished a rifle. A few others held shotguns. He walked another half block and sidestepped a fistfight between two women, and he started thinking maybe this wasn’t the best night to investigate West Broadway. McCory’s Department Store burned ahead of him, people standing around cheering the flame and smoke. Joe heard a loud crash and looked up to see a body falling from a second-story window. He stepped back and the body hit the street and broke into several sharp pieces and the crowd hooted. A mannequin. The ceramic head had cracked and one ear had broken into several shards and Joe looked up in time to see the second one sailing out of the same window. That one landed on its feet and snapped in half at the waist. Someone wrenched the head off the first mannequin and hurled it into the crowd.

Joe decided it was definitely time to head back. He turned and a small, bespectacled man with wet hair and brown teeth stooped in front of him, blocking his path. “You look like a sporting man, Young John. Are you a sporting man?”

“Name’s not John.”

“Who’s to know from names? That’s what I say. Are you a sporting man then? Are ye? Are ye?” The man put his hand on his shoulder. “Because, Young John, right down that alley there, we’ve some of the finest sports betting in the world.”

Joe shrugged off the hand. “Dogs?”

“Dogs, aye,” the man said. “We’ve got dogs fighting dogs. And cocks fighting cocks. And we’ve dogs fighting rats, ten at a time!”

Joe moved to his left and the man moved with him.

“Don’t like the rats?” The man haw-hawwed. “All the more reason to see ’em kilt.” He pointed. “Right down that alley.”

“Nah.” Joe tried to wave it away. “I don’t think—”

“That’s correct! Why think?” The man lurched forward and Joe could smell wine and egg on his breath. “Come now, Young John. Down yonder way.”

The man reached for his wrist and Joe saw an opening and darted past the guy. The guy grabbed at his shoulder, but Joe snapped away from his hand and kept walking fast. He looked back and the guy followed him.