A voice boomed above all other voices at the bar. It was Nellie, going over to aid the bartender who had his hands full with two youths wearing duck-tail haircuts and blue rayon club jackets. The youths claimed they were over twenty-one and therefore entitled to buy drinks. They looked about seventeen. Nellie told them to get away from the bar. They didn’t move. They grinned at her. She asked them if they wanted stitches in their heads. The juveniles went on grinning and didn’t move. Nellie gestured to the bartender. The bartender reached under the bar, came up with a foot-long section of lead pipe and handed it to Nellie. The two youths looked at each other. Then they walked away from the bar.

“Out the door,” Nellie said. They hesitated a moment, one of them mumbling inaudibly. Nellie took a step toward them. They hurried to the side door, opened it and went out. Nellie returned the lead pipe to the bartender, grimacing with disappointment because she hadn’t been given an excuse to use it. She moved along the bar, her eyes alert for any unruly behavior or antisocial chicanery. She came to a stop where Corey was bent low over the bar, gazing morosely at his double shot.

“Go on, drink it,” Nellie said. “It don’t do you no good just sittin’ there.”

He turned and looked at the big woman. “You pushin’ sales?”

“Just nursing the trade, that’s all. That’s part of my job. I’m here to keep the customers happy.”

“I’m happy,” Corey said.

“Yeah. You look happy.”

“Get off me,” he mumbled. He gulped the gin. Nellie grinned at him and he said tightly, “Now what the hell’s so comical?”

Nellie chuckled lightly. She said, “It always tickles me—”

“What tickles you?”

“When the slick ones get it. When the screwer gets screwed.” She started away from him. Something zigzagged through his brain. He reached out and took hold of her huge arm. She stopped, looked at his hand on her arm.

“You messin’ with me?”

“Just socializin’.” Corey forced a smile. It was a weary smile, sad and lonely. “Lemme buy you a drink.”

“It’s rye. Beer chaser.”

He ordered a double rye and a tall beer for Nellie, a double gin for himself. The big woman reached for the shot glass, brought it to her mouth, then frowned thoughtfully and set the glass on the bar. “How come?” she asked.

“What?”

“You never done this before. Buyin’ me a drink.”

“Don’t make it a big deal.”

“Jesus,” she said. She stepped back and looked at him in wonder. Then her eyes narrowed and she peered at him as though studying a chart.