Douglas took his first drink of the whiskey. “Not only a monomaniac, but a moralist too,” he observed. “That’s a tough combination to beat. And tough to take.”

Hook said nothing. As he drank, with his left hand, he saw Douglas’s eyes stray to his swollen right hand.

“You break it?”

“No.”

“But it hurts, huh?”

“Yes. It hurts.”

“You surprised you got out of there in one piece?”

“Should I be?”

Douglas grinned. “Well, I can’t recall anyone else ever doing it—decking old Bo, and getting away with it.”

“Thanks to your paperweight.”

“You think that was it?”

“That was it.”

“Anyway, don’t sweat it. He’ll cool off. I’ll talk to him.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“The fearless farmer.”

“That’s me.”

Douglas shook his head in rueful amusement. “This is really wild, you know? Here we are—you drinking with me in the forlorn hope I’ll get smashed and let you talk me into going to the police so I can spill my guts—that is the phrase, isn’t it? And me, I’m hoping that if we drink enough and talk enough, maybe you’ll get to see me as a human being and decide not to crucify me after all.”

“Neither of which is very likely.” It was as much a question as a statement.

Douglas shrugged. “Well, I know I won’t go to the police. I’d rather lose my reputation than my freedom any day. And I figure that’s all you’ll get, because the others won’t break. Liz may have told you, but that’s only natural. Kind of like confessing to God. She purges her conscience, without running any risks. But she’ll stop with you. She won’t tell anyone else. And neither will Dorothy. They’ll stick with their original statements. So all you’ll be able to do is spread the rumor—ruin me politically. That, you can do.”

“So it will be a standoff,” Hook said.

“If you won’t treat us as human beings—yes.”

“A standoff it is, then.”

Douglas drained his glass and put it down with a comic flourish. “Well, that’s that,” he said, refilling the glass, then Hook’s. When he was finished, his eyes drifted to the tinted window, the brilliant sweep of sea. “Guess I should’ve left you out there yesterday,” he mused. “Christ, that was wild. The original idea was just to get you good and wet. But we almost lost you, didn’t we? I wonder if it was really an accident or maybe my subconscious taking over, my heart’s desire to see you dead. And me safe.”

Hook said nothing, did not know what he could say in the face of such an admission. Again Douglas picked up his glass and drank, as if the scotch were iced tea on a hot day.

“Liz,” he said. “How’d you break her down? You make it with her?”

Though Hook said nothing, his expression evidently was answer enough.

Douglas made a face. “Don’t let it go to your head, pal. In these parts, that’s no great achievement. Liz is one girl who truly believes in charity. Except when it comes to me, that is. Old Jack foots the bills, and keeps footing them. Maybe that’s why I lost my cool with your boy. I mean the fact that he was living there, eating the food I’d paid for. The booze. The pot. The girl.”