Billy took another large swallow of beer and coughed on it.

'But that is neither here nor there. I took a walk, looked at all those boats, and got my mind serene. And then I figured out what to do … or at least, the start of it and the shape of how it should go afterward. I don't have all the details worked out yet, but that'll come.

'I walked back to the main drag and made a few more calls – follow-up calls. There is no warrant out for your arrest, William, but your wife and this nose-jockey doctor of yours sure did sign some papers on you. I wrote it down.' He took a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. “'Committal in absentia.” That sound right?'

Billy Halleck's mouth dropped open and a wounded sound fell out of it. For a moment he was utterly stunned and then the fury which had become his intermittent companion swept through him again. He had thought it might happen, yes, had thought Houston would suggest it, and even thought Heidi might agree to it. But thinking about something and hearing it had actually happened – that your own wife had gone before a judge, had testified that you had gone loony, and had been granted a res gestae order of committal which she had then signed – that was very different.

'That cowardly bitch,' he muttered thickly, and then the world was blotted out by red agony. He had closed his hands into fists without thinking. He groaned and looked down at the bandage on his left hand. Flowers of red were blooming there.

I can't believe you just thought that about Heidi, a voice in his mind spoke up.

It's just because my mind is not serene, he answered the voice, and then the world grayed out for a while.

It wasn't quite a faint, and he came out of it quickly. Ginelli changed the bandage on his hand and repacked the wound, doing a job that was clumsy but fairly adequate. While he did it, he talked.

'My man says it don't mean a thing unless you go back to Connecticut, William.'

'No, that's true. But don't you see? My own wife.'

'Never mind that, William. It doesn't matter. If we can fix things up with this old Gypsy, you'll start to gain weight again and their case is out of the window. If that happens, you'll have plenty of time to decide what you want to do about your wife. Maybe she needs a slapping to sharpen her up a little, you know? Or maybe you just got to walk. You can decide that shit for yourself if we can fix things up with the Gyp – or you can write Dear Fucking Abby, if you want. And if we can't fix things up, you're gonna die. Either way, this thing is gonna get taken care of. So what's the big deal about them getting a paper on your head?'

Billy managed a white-lipped smile. 'You would have made a great lawyer, Richard. You have this unique way of putting things in perspective.'

'Yeah? You think so?'

'I do.'

'Well, thanks. Next I called Kirk Penschley.'

'You talked with Kirk Penschley?'

'Yes.'

'Jesus, Richard!'

'What, you think he wouldn't take a call from a cheap hood like me?' Ginelli managed to sound both wounded, and amused at the same time. 'He took it, believe me. Of course, I called on my credit card – he wouldn't want my name on his phone bill, that much is true. But I've done a lot of business with your firm over the years, William.'

'That's news to me,' Billy said. 'I thought it was just that one time.'

'That time everything could be out in the open, and you were just right for it,' Ginelli said. 'Penschley and his big stud-lawyer partners would never have stuck you into something crooked. William – you were a comer. On the other hand, I suppose they knew you'd be meeting me sooner or later, if you hung around long enough in the firm, and that first piece of work would be a good introduction. Which it was – for me as well as for you, believe me. And if something went wrong – if our business that time had happened to turn the wrong corner or something – you could have been sacrificed. They wouldn't have liked to do it, but their view is better to sacrifice a comer than a genuine bull stud-lawyer. These guys all see the same they are very predictable.'

'What other kind of business have you done with my firm?' Billy asked, frankly fascinated – this was a little like finding out your wife had been cheating on you long after you had divorced her for other reasons.

'Well, all kinds – and not exactly with your firm. Let's say they have brokered legal business for me and a number of my friends and leave it at that. Anyway, I know Kirk well enough to call him and ask for a favor. Which he granted.'

'What favor?'

'I asked him to call this Barton bunch and tell them to lay off for a week. Lay off you, and lay off the Gypsies. I'm actually more concerned about the Gypsies, you want to know the truth. We can do this, William, but it'll be easier if we don't have to chase them from hoot to holler and then back to fucking hoot again.'

'You called Kirk Penschley and told him to lay off,' Billy said, bemused.

'No, I called Kirk Penschley and told him to tell the Barton agency to lay off,' Ginelli corrected. 'And not exactly in those words, either. I can' be a little bit political when I have to be, William. Give me some credit.'

'Man, I give you a lot of credit. More every minute.'

'Well, thank you. Thank you, William. I appreciate that.' He lit a cigarette. 'Anyway, your wife and her doctor friend will continue to get reports, but they'll be a little bit off. I mean, they'll be like the National Enquirer and Reader's Digest version of the truth – do you dig what I am saying.

Billy laughed. 'Yeah, I see.'

'So, we got a week. And a week should be enough.'

'What are you going to do?'

'All you'll let me do, I guess. I am going to scare them, William. I'm going to scare him. I'm going to scare him so bad he's gonna need to put a fucking Delco tractor battery in his pacemaker. And I'm going to keep raising the level of the scares until one of two things happens. Either he is gonna cry uncle and take off what he put on you, or we decide he don't scare, that old man. If that happens, I come back to you and ask if you have changed your mind about hurting people. But maybe it won't go that far.'

'How are you going to scare him?'

Ginelli touched the shopping bag with the toe of one Bally boot and told him how he meant to start. Billy was appalled. Billy argued with Ginelli, as he had foreseen; then he talked with Ginelli, as he had also foreseen; and although Ginelli never raised his voice, his eyes continued to whirl and twirl with that mad light and Billy knew he might as well have been talking to the man in the moon.

And as the fresh pain in his hand slowly subsided to the former throbbing ache, he began to feel sleepy again.

'When are you going?' he asked, giving up.

Ginelli glanced at his watch. 'Ten past ten now. I'll give them another four or five hours. They been doing a good little business out there, from what I heard downtown. Telling a lot of fortunes. And the dogs – those pit-bulls. Christ Almighty. The dogs you saw weren't pit-bulls, were they?'

'I never saw a pit-bull,' Billy said sleepily. 'The ones I saw all looked like hounds.'

'Pit-bulls look like a cross between terriers and bulldogs. They cost a lot of dough. If you want to see pit-bulls fight, you got to agree to pay for one dead dog before the wagers even get put down. It's one nasty business.

'They're into all the classy stuff in this town, ain't they, William – Ferrari sunglasses, dope boats, dogfights. Oh, sorry -and tarot and the I Ching.'

'Be careful,' Billy said.

'I'll be careful,' Ginelli said, 'don't worry.'

Billy fell asleep shortly after. When he woke up it was ten minutes until four and Ginelli was gone. He was seized with the certainty that Ginelli was dead. But Ginelli came in at a quarter to six, so fully alive that he seemed somehow too big for the place. His clothes, face, and hands were splattered with mud that reeked of sea salt. He was grinning. That crazy light danced in his eyes.