The bullet went into the mouth of the hyena-Satan. Some pieces of rubber sprayed out, mixed with pieces of bone and bloody flesh. From the back of the gunman’s skull a thin stream of brains trickled down. He was dead before he hit the floor. The other gunman was trying for the window, at first crawling on hands and knees and then sobbing frenziedly as he fought to get to his feet. He was groggy from the blow that Corey had delivered and as he came to his feet he fell sideways and collided with the wall. Then he was down again, on his knees.

Corey didn’t see Rafer coming. Rafer snatched the gun from Corey’s hand, and Grogan shouted, “No, don’t—don’t do that.”

But Rafer was pulling the trigger. He shot the gunman in the spine. Then he shot him in the neck, and sent a third bullet into his head. The corpse was sitting against the wall. Rafer leaned very close and fired twice, the bullets going in through the eye slits of the werewolf mask.

“That fixes it,” Rafer said. He turned away from the seated corpse, expanding his chest importantly. He faced Grogan, who’d walked slowly across the room.

“You imbecile,” Grogan said quietly. With the back of his hand he hit Rafer across the mouth. Rafer tried to say something and Grogan hit him again. “You imbecile, you,” Grogan said.

Excited shouts came from the taproom and people were knocking on the door. Then there was the sound of shoulders thudding against the door as they tried to push it off its hinges.

Grogan moved toward the door and told them to stop. The noise subsided. He went back to Rafer and said, “Tell me something. What’s the matter with you?”

Rafer swallowed hard. “I thought—”

“You thought,” Grogan said. “With what? Your ass?”

“I figured—”

“No you didn’t,” Grogan said. “You can’t even add one and one.” He gestured toward the masked corpse. “Even the dumbest punk would know I wanted him alive.”

Rafer blinked several times. “He was makin’ for the window. All I done was stop him.”

“You stopped him, all right,” Grogan said. “You stopped him from talking, that’s what you did.”

Rafer sighed heavily. He stood there deflated, making a helpless gesture. Grogan turned away, bent over the sitting corpse and ripped off the werewolf mask. The poker players moved closer to get a look at the face.

“Anyone know him?” Grogan asked. They said no. Grogan crossed over to the other corpse and removed the mask and again it was no.

Grogan frowned, confused. He said aloud to himself, “I don’t get this. Just don’t get it, that’s all.”

“It’s a cinch they ain’t from this neighborhood,” someone said. “Then what’s the answer?” another asked, puzzled. “There’s gotta be an answer.”