Sextant pouted. "Oh, he told you."

"Nothing wrong with that, Patsy's okay, he's just trying to be friendly." Beer-gut grinned, showing teeth the color of tobacco juice. "He said you liked firemen, and that's me."

"You're a fireman?"

"Rockhill Volunteers, best damn company in the Hudson Valley."

Sextant said doubtfully, "You don't look like a fireman to me."

"Hell, what's a fireman supposed to look like?"

"Sort of… athletic. I mean, how do you get up and down those ladders?"

"You mean this?" Beer-gut patted his belly. "That don't stop me from doing what I want to. Never has, and never will." He winked. "You know what I mean?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean." Sextant flashed a glance at Beer-gut's table. The two men who looked like brothers were grinning broadly. Patsy stood at the end of the bar with a worried look on his face. "I don't believe you're a fireman at all. "

"You're a hard man to convince."

"Prove it then. If you're a fireman, where's your tool?"

"Say what?"

"Your tool. That long iron bar that the firemen carry. They call it a halligan."

"Oh, that tool. Well, hell, you don't expect me to carry it around with me, do you? It's out in my van."

"I don't believe you."

"Wanna bet? I'll bet you fifty bucks it is."

Sextant looked at him with cool contempt. "You're bluffing. Go ahead and get it."

"Bring it in here?" Beer-gut shook his head. "No way, might cause a panic, people think there's a fire. You want to see it, come on out to the parking lot, and I'll show it to you."

Sextant looked away. "How boring."

Beer-gut shrugged. "Suit yourself, pal, but that's the only way you get to see my tool."

Sextant looked back. "Let me see if I understand this. We go out to the parking lot, and look in your van?"

"Right."

"And if you can show me your tool, you win and I give you fifty dollars?"

"That's it."

Sextant glanced at the table again. The other two men were gone. He slid off his stool. "Let's go."

They left the bar, Beer-gut leading. The parking lot was dark beyond the pool of light by the door. Their shoes crunched on gravel. They turned a corner past a dumpster, and past the exhaust fan from the kitchen. Sextant caught a blast of foul air, and tightened his lips.

"Where's your van?" he asked.

Beer-gut's voice came floating out of the darkness. "Right back here."

"I don't see anything."

"Don't wet your pants, it's just a little ways."

Beer-gut stopped beside a Chevy van that once had been white. Now it was grey, and matted with rust. He slid open the side door, bent over, and reached inside. He said, "Should be around here someplace." He straightened up. He had a Softball bat in his hand.

Sextant said quietly, "That's not the tool I was looking for."

"I know that, sweetheart." Beer-gut tapped the bat against his leg. "But this is what you're gonna get."

Sextant stood very still. He heard the scrape of shoes on gravel behind him, and he knew that the other two were there. He said, "What is this?"

"It's time to teach you a lesson, faggot." The bat went tap, tap, tap. "You don't belong here. You got told that, didn't you?"

"Now, look…"

"You got told to get out, but you wouldn't. You think you can come into a decent place like this and go prancing around…"

"Look, let's just say that you won the bet. I'll give you the fifty."

"Fuck your money, and fuck you, faggot. This isn't for money, this is for what's right and what's wrong." A torrent of filth poured out of his mouth as he worked himself into a rage.

Sextant said calmly, "Now I'm sure you're not a fireman. A fireman would never use such language. A fireman is a noble creature."

Beer-gut raised the bat. "God damn you…"

Behind Sextant, somebody said, "Hey, stop talking so much and pop him one."

Beer-gut swung. Sextant moved inside the arc of the swing, and put his left fist into Beer-gut's belly. He turned his shoulder, and put his weight behind it. Beer-gut's eyes widened, and he doubled over. He dropped the bat. Sextant chopped down at his neck with the edge of his right hand. Beer-gut went flat on his face.

Sextant whirled to face the other two. They came charging at him awkwardly. He laughed. He waited until they were close enough, and then moved with the grace of a dancer. He kicked the first one in the pit of the stomach. He took out the second one with the same chop he had used on Beer-gut. They both went down. The second one lay without moving. The first one twitched and groaned. Sextant put two fingers to the side of his neck, pressed, and the groaning stopped. He straightened up, and looked around. He saw nothing but darkness, and heard nothing but the faint sound of the music from the tavern. He nodded in satisfaction.

He loaded the three men into the van, climbed in, and slid the door shut. He found the interior light, and flipped it on. There was a coil of greasy rope on the floor, but he preferred the fishing line he had in his pocket. He bound the three men hands and feet, and looked around for rags. There were none, but there was an old newspaper. He made wads out of the paper, and used the wads for gags. He checked the eyes of the three men; they were still out. He settled back to wait.

While he waited, he scrubbed at his face with a handkerchief, trying to remove the makeup he had used. Now that it had served its purpose he wanted it off as quickly as possible for, despite the masquerade he had just performed, he was not gay. Nor was he straight. He was a man without sexual interest, and had always been so. It was a drive that he lacked, but the lack did not bother him. He felt in no way incomplete, for he had his own compensations.

After a while he realized that the scrubbing was getting him nowhere, and he put the handkerchief away. He would need some cream and a proper wash. He sat back and waited. Beer-gut was the first to open his eyes. He looked around wildly, and strained to get free. He managed to raise his feet a few inches, and bang them on the floor. He did it twice.

Sextant said, "Stop that or I'll hurt you."

Beer-gut stopped, but his eyes were still wild. The other two came around slowly. They also strained, and then slumped back.

"Let me have your attention," said Sextant. He spoke in a low, calm voice. "We have something to discuss, and I'm going to take those gags out of your mouths, but you're going to keep your voices low, and you're not going to make any noise. Is that understood. Nod if it is."

They glared at him without moving. He sighed, and murmured, "I thought not."

He put his hand on Beer-gut's upper arm. He did something quickly with his fingers. Sweat popped out on Beer-gut's face, and he made a strangled noise behind the gag. Sextant did the same to the other two, and got the same result.

"I can give you that sort of pain any time I want to," he said. "And I should also mention that I enjoy doing it. Now, are you going to play nicely?"

Three heads nodded. Sextant flipped the wads of paper out of their mouths. They were breathing heavily. Beer-gut was the first to speak.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Just a guy who likes firemen."

"Shit, you ain't no faggot. Ain't a faggot alive can hit like that."

"Don't be too sure of that."

"Well, are you?"

"You'll never know."

"What is this?" asked one of the others. "What you want with us?"

"Actually," Sextant said brightly. "I want to offer you a job. All three of you."

It took a moment for that to sink in. Beer-gut spluttered, "A job? You did this just to… you said a job?"

Sextant nodded.

"Mister, this is one hell of a way to run an employment agency."

Sextant did not smile. "I had to be sure of what I was getting. I need three animals, three thoroughly loathsome creatures without a scrap of moral sensibility. I think you'll do nicely."