The paper bag flew off the counter against the wall. He ducked behind the bar and peered over it cautiously, keeping the gun trained on the bag. It lay on the floor. Very carefiilly, he walked around the bar and used the barrel of the gun to rip open the top of the bag. There he saw the bloody mess, jumped back and fired a second time, yelling, “I shoot you again, you bastard!”

He kicked it a few times, but when it didn’t move, he opened it and stared inside in disbelief at the tomato-sauce-and-cheese sandwich with a big hole in it.

Then he laughed. He realized that the heat of the Stromboli in the aluminum foil had made it move. Feeling silly at wasting two rounds of ammunition on a sandwich, he put the bag on the kitchen counter, returned the gun to the top of the refrigerator and drank his vodka. He poured another, took it with him into the living room and turned on the television set. It was news time, and he thought he might find out what day it was. Before the news was over, he fell asleep …

Allen woke up, wondering how he had gotten out of the closet. He felt his head. Just a slight bump. Well, what the hell, he might as well paint that portrait of Billy’s sister, Kathy, that he’d been planning. He started into the studio, then realized he’d forgotten to eat.

Back at the bar, he poured himself a Coke and looked for his sandwich. He was sure he’d left it on the bar. Then he saw it on the counter. The damned bag looked crumpled. What the hell? The sandwich was all messy, with the aluminum foil shredded and tom and tomato sauce all over the place. What kind of Stromboli sandwich was that?

He picked up the phone, dialed Grillis and, \yhen he got the manager, blasted him. “I buy a sandwich and this thing is all mangled. Looks like its been put through a blender.”

“I’m sorry, sir. If you’ll bring it back, we’ll make you another one.”

“No thanks. I just wanted you to know you’ve lost a customer. ”

He slammed down the phone and stomped into the kitchen to fry himself some eggs. He sure as hell wasn’t going to give Grillis any more of his business.

Two weeks later, Tommy took advantage of the mix-up time and called Marlene. There were some things of hers in the |apartment, he told her. She ought to come over and get them. She came by after work and they sat and talked through the evening. She started dropping in regularly again.

Things were back to what they had been before, and Ragen I blamed it all on Arthur’s inability to control the family.

Chapter Fifteen

(1)

“Walter” woke up in the apartment late in the afternoon of December 8, restless to go hunting, longing for the thrill of the chase. He loved being out in the woods alone with a gun.