I fiddle with my Zippo, snap it open and closed.

--I just don't want you thinking that I'm gonna be dealing with anyone who might be making this stuff.

He strokes his chin.

--I'm not sure I follow. What's your point?

--The point being, I don't kill for you anymore, Terry.

He scratches the back of his neck.

--Wow. That hadn't really occurred to me. Like I said, Joe, I see this as a social issue. That's why I feel comfortable asking you, as an associate in the community, to look into it. Because I know we share many of the same concerns.

He stops scratching.

--If it turns into a security issue, well, we'll deal with it in-house at that point.

--Fine by me.

I stand up.

--Guess I'll get to it.

He stands.

--All right. All right, Joe. That's good to hear. It'll be good having you doing some work with us again.

--Yeah, sure.

He walks me to the door.

--And, you know, like I say: a social issue. Just between us for the moment. Till we know what we're dealing with.

--Any way you want it. You're paying.

--Great. Great.

He leads me down the hall to the tenement's entrance and opens the door.

--So, hear from you in a couple days?

--Sure.

--All right.

He slaps me on the shoulder.

--Good to see you, Joe.

--Yeah, you too, Terry.

I go down the steps and cross the street. On the opposite sidewalk I look back and Terry is still standing there in the open doorway. He gives me a big smile and a wave.

--Keep the faith, Joe.

I lift my hand slightly and he pops back inside and closes the door.

At the end of the block I turn the corner and see Tom and Hurley coming in the opposite direction. We walk toward each other, Tom pretending like he doesn't see me. Hurley takes up three-quarters of the sidewalk, and I know Tom ain't gonna budge off the rest of it. I step into the gutter to let them by.

A little smirk creases Tom's face.

--That's right, asshole, better make some room.

I let them go past.

--How's that perimeter, Tom?

They keep walking.

--Everything secure?

Walking.

--You pick up Terry's dry cleaning while you were out?

He keeps walking, but throws me the bird over his shoulder.

Tom's got it in for me about as bad as Predo does. Those guys ever came across me dying in the streets, they'd kill each other fighting over who got to sit closer to watch me go. Whatever, doesn't change the fact that he's a world class punk. And about as easy to get a rise out of as a thirteen-year-old's prick. But I keep doing it anyway. Man's gotta have hobbies.

Terry can social me this and security me that, but what it boils down to is he doesn't want anyone to know I'm looking into this. Not even his own people. Especially not his own people. Fair enough. Terry wants this done quiet, he knows what that costs. He knows me digging around on Society turf without an explicit license from the council could get hairy. And he'll pay for that. Slippery as he may be, Terry always comes across when the bill is due.

So me, I'm feeling pretty good about things. A gig that should take care of my rent and empty fridge at the same time? What's not to feel good about? I even got a couple leads. I can go poke around Doc's, see if anyone noticed if The Spaz had company that night, do a little sniffing around in that vicinity. Might turn something up. But I'll save that for later. Right now I got another idea. Someone in this town's figured out a new way to get high. And if getting high is involved, I know the man to talk to.

--Hey, Phil.

--Aw shit. Aw fuck.

He tries to duck off into the crowd. I hook the collar of his shirt and tug him back.

--I said, hey Phil.

He turns around, adjusting his collar, flipping it back up James Dean style.

--Oh, hey, Joe. Didn't see ya there.

--Yeah, well, it's dark in here, so I see how that might happen.

--Yeah, dark in here. Couldn't see ya cuz of all the dark.

He smiles at me, lifts his drink to his mouth and tilts the glass just enough to wet his lips. He'll drink like that all night. Has to, he'll only buy the one drink. When no one's looking he'll snatch up any glasses left unattended and suck them dry before the owners can turn from the jukebox. But that one drink he paid for, he'll nurse that all night. It's like a badge of honor he can show a bartender or doorman if they question his right to be here. Hey, man, I paid for my drink and I got a right ta finish it. Only way he'll toss that thing down is if someone offers to buy him another.

--Buy ya a drink, Phil.

He brings the glass up, vacuums the contents and nods.

--Yeah, that'd be great. I was about to offer, but sure, thanks.

A waitress bustles past and I lift my chin. She gives me a harried half smile, too busy right now to work the charm for a tip.

--What? What?

--Double bourbon, rocks. AndÉ