Spencerville

highway.”
    “I know. I’d like to take care of the problem before I leave, but I promised I wouldn’t.”
    “I understand. Can I ask you… have you ever done that? I mean, I guess in Vietnam…”
    Keith didn’t reply, but he thought about her question. Yes, he’d killed in Vietnam, but that was in combat. In his early years in intelligence work, he’d literally had a license to kill, but before they’d given him his gun and silencer, they’d given him the rules: There were only two absolute times for killing—in combat and in self-defense. But everyone in America had the same right. His license, however, extended into murkier areas, such as a preemptive kill, if you
felt
threatened. And it got even murkier than that, like the right to kill in order to remove a great evil, whatever that was. Keith thought that Cliff Baxter was a great evil, for instance, but Mr. Baxter’s parents and children might not agree. It was sort of a case-by-case thing, and Keith never had to make the decision by himself, and neither did he have to be the gunman if he had a problem with the committee decision. Here in Spencerville, however, far removed from any restraints or advice, he was on his own.
    She said, “Have you thought about the fact that you’ll never be really safe as long as he’s around?”
    “I don’t think Cliff Baxter’s balls travel well. We’ll stay away from his turf.”
    “Did you ever think he might take out his rage on… well, let’s say Annie’s family?”
    “What are you suggesting, Gail? I thought you were a pacifist.”
    “Jeffrey is a pacifist. If someone threatened my life, or the lives of my family or friends, I’d kill them.”
    “With what? A carrot?”
    “Be serious. Listen, I feel threatened, and I obviously can’t go to the police. I’ll take that rifle.”
    “Okay. I’ll get it.” He stood, but Jeffrey came down the stairs.
    Gail said to Keith. “We’ll put it in my trunk later.”
    Jeffrey came into the kitchen. “Put what in the trunk?”
    Gail replied, “The Tupperware.”
    “Right.” He sat down, and they had breakfast.
    Jeffrey said, “Hell of a party last night. Glad we could finally celebrate the Landry-Prentis engagement announcement.”
    Keith asked, “Did you ever wonder what our lives would have been like without the war and the turmoil?”
    “Yeah, I thought about it. Dull, I think. Like now, I think we had a unique experience. Yeah, a lot of people got hurt and fucked-up, but most of us came through it okay. We’re better people because of it.” He added, “My students were totally boring, self-centered, selfish, irresolute, and without character. Christ, you’d think they were Republicans, but they thought they were rebels. Right. Rebels without a clue.”
    Gail said, “You got him started.”
    Keith said to Jeffrey, “You remember Billy Marlon?”
    “Sure. Goofy kid. An obsessive pleaser, wanted to be everyone’s best friend. In fact, I ran into him a few times. I wanted to be nice, for old time’s sake, but he’s a burnout.”
    “I ran into him at John’s Place.”
    “Christ, Landry, I wouldn’t take a piss in that place.”
    “I was feeling nostalgic one night.”
    “Go to the sock hop. Why’d you ask about him?”
    “Well, sometimes when I see a guy like that, I say to myself, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’”
    Gail commented, “If God’s grace existed, there wouldn’t be people like that for you to say, ‘There but for the grace of God.’”
    Jeffrey said, “You got
her
started. I understand what you’re saying, Keith, but I think the Billy Marlons of the world would have gotten fucked-up in any decade. That’s not us.”
    “I wonder.”
    “Yeah, we’re fuckups, but we’re functional.” He thought a moment and said, “We pulled ourselves out of this place, Keith, you and I and a few others. We weren’t born with money like the Baxters, or into a tradition of education like the Prentis family. Your old man was a farmer, mine was a railroad worker. The sixties didn’t fuck us up, they broke us loose from convention and class structure.” He added, “And we got laid a lot. You know, I once figured out that I probably got laid more than every male and female in my family put together, going back to maybe 1945. I think people got laid a lot during the Second World War, but not before or after.”
    Keith smiled. “Was that one of your prepared lectures?”
    “It was, actually.”
    “Okay, we had