The Fulcis were not without some admirable personal and professional qualities. They loved their mother. They were unswervingly loyal to their small circle of friends. They only busted the heads of those who were asking to have their heads busted. They were kind to animals. After this, the list of positives petered out, but as Dave’s wife Weslie liked to remind him – a lot of people in the world couldn’t boast even that many decencies. This, Dave had to admit, was certainly true, but as far as he was aware, the majority of those dubious individuals did not drink in his beloved Great Lost Bear, whereas the Fulcis practically lived in it.

Views differed on which of the brothers was the least unbalanced, an argument so esoteric, the differences involved being minute, that even St Thomas Aquinas himself might have elected to take a pass on it. Those familiar with the Fulcis felt that Tony, the older of the two, was now marginally less crazy than Paulie, and kept his brother somewhat in check. Since they looked almost identical (each being roughly as wide as he was tall), dressed in the same clothes, spoke in similar tones, and held interchangeable views on the world, the point was probably moot – especially if one of them was hitting you, since they also punched with indistinguishable force, like being hit by a cement block carved into the shape of a fist.

Currently Paulie Fulci was curled up on a bench beneath the bear head that was the bar’s mascot, working on a crossword puzzle. Dave, who was checking accounts at the bar, had almost fallen from his stool in shock upon being told this, only to discover that it was a crossword puzzle in a comic book with a pony on the front cover. Still, it represented progress, of a sort.

The bar was quiet, even for early on a damp Sunday afternoon. Dave enjoyed this time. He found it conducive to the kind of concentration the accounts required, which was why, once a month, he liked to come to the Bear to do them. But once evening arrived, Dave would be gone. The Bear didn’t need him around at night, and the line chefs would only stress him out.