Angie threw up her hands. She said, “Of course.” And: “Maybe you should just go.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” John said. Not yet, he thought. “I see no need to hide as though I were.”

“Hello?” A man’s voice bellowed from the front of the house, loud enough to rouse the neighborhood. “Hello? I know you’re in there, Russo. Got-dammit. Come on out here and face me like a man.”

“Christ,” John said. “That’s Tab. Maybe we should both take off.”

“Tab Darling? Harriet’s Tab?” Angie’s eyes were bright with curiosity or maybe it was simply relief that the conversation neither of them wanted had come to such an abrupt end. John might feel the same way, if it weren’t Tab Darling pounding on the door. The glass was rattling in the windowpanes with the force of it.

“That’s him,” he said. “He’s been drinking. Let me handle him, okay?”

Angie’s was curious about Harriet’s infamous husband (it would be best if he would just die) and ready for just about anything. She waited for John to open the door.

Tab stood there with one arm resting on the door frame, the other fist raised to pound. He was a good-looking guy, or had been before his muscles had gone to beer, of which he reeked. On top of that, he was dripping wet but didn’t seem to realize it.

“Tab,” John said, “what is it?”

Tab blinked at him in the bleary, irritable way of the very drunk. “Is Harriet here? I know she is, she must be. Where’s my wife?”

“She isn’t here,” Angie said.

Tab pushed past John and came to a stop in front of Angie. The fumes that came off him were enough to make her light-headed. He scowled at her.

“I suppose that wop you work with ain’t here, either.”

“You suppose right,” Angie said.

Tab’s whole face screwed up in frustration. “Girl, don’t you know better than to come between a dog and a fire hydrant?”

Angie said, “Which one are you?” and John winced.

Tab was too drunk to follow the question, but not drunk enough to give up. He said, “The whole got-damned town is being overrun by got-damned wops.”

His head wobbled a little as he leaned in close enough for Angie to count the oddly boyish freckles on his nose.

“Patty-Cake’s got a hair up her ass with your name on it.” He burped softly. “Says you’re trying to take John here away from Caroline. Is that true?”

“No,” Angie said. “I’ve got no hold on him.” She made sure not to look in John’s direction.

Tab sniffed loudly. “The hell you say. But there he stands, big as life and dumb as a sack full of hammers. What have you two been up to?”

“Work,” John said. “Now, what can we do for you?”