Divine Evil

again, but her voice had toughened with the rejection. “But I'm better than I used to be.”
    So everyone said, Cam thought and lighted a cigarette.She'd been a stunner once, stacked and sexy and seventeen. They'd fucked each other blind. And then, Cam remembered, she had slinked off to dispense the favor on as many other males as she could find.
    “Sarah Hewitt'll do it” had become the battle cry of Emmitsboro High.
    The pity of it was, he'd loved her-with all of his loins and at least half his heart. Now he only felt sorry for her. Which, he knew, was worse than hate.
    The voices from the back grew in volume, and the curses became more colorful. Cam cocked a brow at
    Clyde.
    “Leave ′em be.” Clyde's voice was a froggy rasp, as if he'd had his vocal cords wrapped in tinfoil. As he popped open two bottles of Bud, his face moved into a scowl that had his five chins swaying like Jell-O. “This ain't no nursery school.”
    “It's your place,” Cam said casually, but he'd noticed that Clyde had glanced toward the back room a half-dozen times since Cam had ordered the beer.
    “That's right, and having a badge in here makes my customers nervous. You going to drink that or play with it?”
    Cam lifted his glass and drank. He picked up his cigarette, took a drag, then crushed it out. “Who's in the back, Clyde?”
    Clyde's fleshy face pokered up. “Usual bums.” When Cam continued to stare at him, Clyde picked up a sour-smelling rag and began to polish the dull surface of the bar. “Biff's back there, and I don't want no trouble.”
    Cam went very still at his stepfather's name, and the amusement faded from his eyes. Biff Stokey rarely did his drinking in town, and when he did, it wasn't friendly.
    “How long's he been here?”
    Clyde moved his shoulders and set off an avalancheripple of flab beneath his stained apron. “I ain't got no stopwatch.”
    There was a quick, shrill feminine scream and the sound of crashing wood.
    “Sounds like he's been here too long,” Cam said and started back, shoving onlookers aside. “Back off.” He elbowed his way through, toward the shouting. “I said back off, goddamn it.”
    In the rear room where customers gathered to play pool or dump quarters into the ancient pinball machine, he saw a woman cowering in the corner and Less Gladhill swaying beside the pool table with a cue held in both fists. There was already blood on his face. Biff stood a few feet away, holding the remains of a chair. He was a big, bulky man with arms like cinder blocks, liberally tattooed from his stint in the marines. His face, ruddy from sun and drinking, was set in a snarl. The eyes were as Cam always remembered them, dark and full of hate.
    Oscar Roody was hopping from one leg to the other, standing out of harm's way while he played peacemaker.
    “Come on, Biff, it was a friendly game.”
    “Fuck off,” Biff muttered.
    Cam set a hand on Oscar's shoulder and with a jerk of his head gestured him aside. “Take a walk, Less. Sober up.” Cam spoke softly, his eyes on his stepfather.
    “That sonofabitch hit me with the fucking chair.” Less swiped at the blood pooling over his eye. “He owes me twenty bucks.”
    “Take a walk,” Cam repeated. He curled his fingers around the pool cue. He only had to tug once before Less released it.
    “He's fucking crazy. It was assault. I got witnesses.” There was a general murmur of agreement, but no one stepped forward. “Fine. Go on over to the office. GiveDoc Crampton a call. He'll take a look at you.” He sent one sweeping glance around the room. “Clear out.”
    People moved back, muttering, but most crowded in the doorway to watch Cam face down his stepfather.
    “Big man now, ain't you?” Biff's gravelly voice was slurred with drink. And he grinned, the way he had always grinned before he plowed into Cam. “Got yourself a badge and a shitload of money, but you're still a punk.”
    Cam's fingers tensed on the cue. He was ready. More than ready. “It's time you went home.”
    “I'm drinking. Clyde, you motherfucker, where's my whiskey?”
    “You're finished drinking here,” Cam said steadily. “You can go out walking through the front, or I can carry you out the back.”
    Biff's grin widened. He tossed the broken chair aside and lifted his ham-sized fists. He'd been set to kick Less's ass, but this was better yet. It had been years since he'd been able to beat some respect into the boy. And Cam was overdue.
    “Why don't you just