“Hey, Leon, buddy, just thought you might want to . . .”

“Go home!” Leon snapped off the porch light. He heard Priscilla start to whine.

“C’mon, Leslie. This wasn’t such a good idea.”

Leslie started to pound on the door. Leon flicked on the light and whipped open the door at the same time. Leslie almost fell on his face. Priscilla stumbled in behind him.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to state your business and decide to go home.”

“Hey, brother. Don’t be so hasty. Where’s your manners? Come on, how about a beer?”

“Yeah, Leon, how about a beer?” Priscilla thought she was real cute. “Why don’t you invite Martha to come join us?”

“I don’t need an invitation in my own house,” Martha said from the doorway. She was wrapped up in her robe, her hair all astray, hands clutching the robe closed.

Priscilla’s eyes opened in amazement. Sobriety settled over her. This can’t be Martha!

“Hey, Martha,” Priscilla said. “What happened? I mean you look terrific.” She belched without even trying to be polite about it.

“What is it you want?”

“Just thought we’d drop by for a little party, right, Priscilla?”

“Uh, right.” Priscilla couldn’t take her eyes off Martha. “Hey, Martha, remember when we painted the living room, you and me?”

“No.”

Priscilla’s eyes turned to Leslie. “We better go, Les.”

“Not until I get my beer.”

“I don’t have any beer, Leslie,” Leon said.

“C’mon, Les. Let’s go.” Priscilla looked at Martha with something close to fear in her eyes. She grabbed Leslie’s T-shirt and pulled him toward the door. “This is too weird.”

Leslie punched Leon lightly on the arm. “Take it easy, eh, Leon? Maybe we’ll get together for that beer soon.” He followed Priscilla out the door. “I’ll come back.”

“There’ll be a shotgun waitin’ next time, Leslie.”

Pure evil rippled across Leslie’s face. His arms hung limply at his sides, as if the beer were finally catching up with his body, but his face sneered. He whispered menacingly. “You fuckin’ pervert.”

Leon clenched his fists and stood his ground, watching as Priscilla grabbed Leslie’s T-shirt again and pulled him out to the truck. Leslie stumbled backward, then jerked out of her grasp, eyes clamped tight on Leon’s.

They both got in on the driver’s side, and Leslie started the engine. It coughed. He wanted it to roar. When it caught, he tried to spin around, spitting gravel fifty feet behind him. Instead, the truck died, and the headlights dimmed again and again as he ground the starter. He cursed it to life, and the truck with its two drunken passengers lurched out of the drive as Martha and Leon watched them go.

“Take me home, Leslie,” Priscilla said. “I don’t feel too good.” She leaned out the car window and puked.