Rescue

station wagon pasted on the front of it. Big Dick himself is like a three-hundred-pound Indian—American Indian, I mean—and he insults the people in the audience like Don Rickies, then gets them to come up with him and tell everybody their favorite dirty jokes. It’s a hoot.“
    The couple asked for a napkin to take down the names and the mile markers. While they were doing that, Donna looked carefully at the morose guy, then came over to me. Her hair was drawn up into a ponytail on the side of her head, like a Flintstones cartoon character. “What can I get you?“
    “Draft?“
    “Killian’s Irish Red, Coors, Bud.“
    “Killian’s fresh?“
    “Tapped it two hours ago myself.“
    “Great.“
    She smiled, gauging something, then came back with the ale. “Boston, right?“
    “Good ear.“
    “When we moved to Virginia, a Welcome Wagon of the neighborhood women came over to us. One of them was from Boston and sounded just like you.“
    “It’s an accent you can pick out, once you’ve heard it.“
    The middle-aged couple said, “Thanks, Donna,“ and left a
    e on the counter.
    She said, “Hey, thank you a lot! Y’all have a nice time in Keys, now.“
    I said, “By the way, Donna, my name’s John.“
    She extended her hand, giving mine a firm, slightly more than friendly shake. “John, pleased to meet you. But my name’s not D-O-N-N-A, it’s D-A-W-N-A.“
    “ Sorry.“
    “Don’t be. It’s a mistake everybody makes.“
    “I have to confess, I can’t tell where you’re from.“
    “Here, originally. A true conk, and there aren’t many of us left.“
    “Conk?“
    “C-O-N-C-H, from the shell, only it’s pronounced ‘conk’, like a rap in the head.“
    The morose guy called out, “How about another beer here before you get a rap in the head?“
    Dawna glared at him. The quartet in the corner shut up, then continued their own conversation more quietly.
    She said, “Jay, don’t you start now.“
    “I’m not starting anything. I’m ordering another beer.“
    “I told you when you sat down, it was two and out. That’s number two, and you’re out.“
    He got up and moved toward us. Dawna reached for something under the bar. Jay ignored me and lunged across for her. Bad idea on both counts.
    I stomped my right heel from the rung of my stool into he left instep. He howled and brought his booted foot up to hug it, like you do when you stub a toe. I grabbed his left boot and he had to hop on the good foot to keep his balance. I led him that way out the door and into the parking lot.
    Jay said, “The fuck you think you’re doing, man?“
    “Probably getting you out of harm’s way.“
    I let go of his boot, Jay catching his balance on the uneven stones, but limping.
    He said, “You broke my fucking foot, man.“
    “No, it’ll go away after a while. Maybe you should go away, too.“
    “Fuck you, man.“
    Favoring his left side, Jay moved to an old Buick with a lot of primer and a shot suspension system. I was back in Pinky’s before I heard more than saw his car wheeling out of the lot, spritzing gravel against the side of the building.
    Dawna was standing at the end of the bar, her right hand holding a sawed-off bat handle and slapping it into her like a patrol officer with a nightstick. On a level floor with me, she stood about five-seven in sneakers and blue jeans with pockets a different shade of blue than the pants. Then she waved the bat at the receding sound of the Buick’s engine. “That his cruiser?“
    Great, a cop. “Cruiser?“
    “Yeah, we call old oil-burners like Jay’s ‘Keys Cruisers.’“
    “Then, yes, it was his. He have a gun that you know of?“
    A smile, gleaming teeth against the tan. “Kind of late to be asking about that, isn’t it?“
    I smiled back. “Kind of.“
    A male voice echoed, as though from a kitchen. “Dawna! Order up.“
    She said, “Don’t go ‘way,“ then went behind the bar and through a doorway out of sight.
    As I sat back on my stool, I could overhear the four guys in the corner talking. The bearded white said, “The moth erfucker bombed that hundred-story building in New York , he oughta be shot for the motherfucker he is.“
    The tall black said, “You got that right.“
    The bald white guy said, “Only one fucker we fucked with enough to do that.“
    The tall black said, “Saddam Hussein. He the baddest, man.“
    White beard: “Yeah, I didn’t really hate the guy till he fucked with the environment over there.“
    The