Nellie let out an animal growl, let go of Corey and made a beeline for Carp. The little man played it with fox-like strategy. He waited until Nellie was just a few feet away, her hands reaching out to grab him. Then with neatness and precision he used his foot to tip over a chair. As Nellie collided with the falling chair, Carp started a circular route that took him swiftly in the direction of the bar. Knowing what was coming, the regulars at the bar reached quickly for their shot glasses and grimly held on. Others weren’t quick enough. As Carp flashed past the bar, his arm functioned with the speed of a piston. Before he reached the far end of the bar, he’d snatched and downed a double rye and a single of California brandy. Then he headed for the front door and scampered out.

Corey strolled to the bar. His hand was in his trousers pocket, cupping the combined weight of paper and metal, the three sixty-five. He took out a quarter, put it on the bar. It bought him a single shot of gin. He drank the gin, immediately wanted another, but decided it could wait. As he turned away from the bar, the thirst gave way to what was more important at the moment, the hunger for the poker-table, for delicious aces coming his way.

He moved toward the door that led to the back room. Passing the crowded tables, he was ignored like any casual table passer. They’d forgotten Nellie’s tirade and were concentrating on their drinks. But as he neared the door, he had the feeling that a certain pair of eyes were aiming at him. He stopped for a moment, wincing slightly, then continued toward the door. As he reached for the doorknob, something forced him to turn his head.

He saw her.

She was sitting alone at the table near the wall. On the table there was a half-full quart-size bottle of beer. There was an empty glass. Now she reached slowly for the bottle and poured some beer into the glass. While she did it, she looked directly at him.

“Hello, Lil,” he said.

Not saying anything, she lifted the glass to her mouth and sipped at the beer. She went on looking at him.

He blinked a few times. He said, “How’s it going?”

She didn’t answer. She just sat there and sipped more beer and kept looking at him.

“I ain’t seen you around,” he mumbled. “It’s been months now—almost a year, I guess. Or maybe longer than that, I don’t know. Where you been?”

She lowered the glass, leaned back in the chair and didn’t say anything.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “Can’t you talk?”

“Not to you.” Her voice was toneless. There was no particular expression on her face. “I have nothing to say to you.”