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Bobby let that go — consulted his watch.

"Few more minutes and I'll be ready, okay?" said Jerry. "I'm startin' to feel them pills."

"No problem," said Bobby. "I don't have to be at the club for a while. I've got time."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Good," said Bobby. "It's going good . . . I'm head of security now."

"Nice for you."

"Yeah . . . It's okay."

"You ever get anybody there I'd like? You know . . . somebody . . . somebody I could take Rose to see? She loves Neil Diamond. You ever get Neil Diamond there?"

"No . . ." said Bobby. "We had . . . let's see . . . we had . . . Lena Home once . . . we had Vic Damone and Jerry Vale. We had him."

"Yeah? . . . Good?"

"Yeah . . . they were good. You know . . . Not my kind of music, but good."

"Bobby . . . If you ever get anybody there . . . you know . . . that Rose would like . . . I'd appreciate it. If you could get us in. She'd love that. If I actually took her out sometime. They got the dinner and the dancing and everything over there, right?"

"Yeah . . . the whole deal. And the food's not bad."

"Lamb chops? I like a good lamb chop."

"Yeah . . . we got that."

"Beautiful!"

"I'll put you on the list anytime you want to bring her," said Bobby.

"Eddie . . . He ain't gonna mind?"

"As long as you fucking pay on time, Jerry, he won't give a shit. You can do the fucking hokeypokey on the table — he won't care — he's never there anyway. Just call me when you want to come."

"Thanks . . . I appreciate that."

"So," said Bobby. "You ready?"

"Shit," said Jerry, exhaling loudly.

"Take off your glasses, Jer' . . ."

"You gotta do that?"

"Do what?"

"The face . . . You gotta do the face?"

Jerry . . .

"I dunno . . . I thought . . . maybe just the arm would be enough . . ."

"Jerry . . ." repeated Bobby, standing up.

"Awright . . . awright . . . Jesus Fuck . . . Lemme get a tissue at least."

"I brought a handkerchief," said Bobby, reaching again into his jacket, this time for a neatly folded cotton square. "Here. Keep it."

"Always prepared," muttered Jerry, sourly. He removed his glasses and put them carefully on the desk. "They teach you that in the Boy Scouts? What did you used to have to say? 'A Boy Scout is . .. trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, courteous, kind, clean and —'"

Bobby hit him across the nose with the back of his hand. Quickly. It was a sharp, precise blow that knocked Jerry into his chair-back.

"Shit!" said Jerry, honking a red streak onto his shirt front, then covering his face with the handkerchief. He rocked silently in his chair for a moment while Bobby looked around the room for a fat enough book to finish with.

"Get it over with!" hissed Jerry. "Do it now .. . while I'm distracted!" He rolled up his shirt sleeve.

Bobby found what he was looking for — a thick, hardback copy of Molluscs and Bivalves of the North Atlantic, and quickly placed the book in front of Jerry on the desk. Jerry knew the drill. He compliantly laid his thin, blue-veined arm against the spine so that the hand was raised, then closed his eyes. "Do it!" he said.

When Bobby brought his fist down on Jerry's radial ulna — the thinner of the two bones between wrist and elbow — there was a muffled snap, like a bottle breaking beneath a pillow.

"Ohhh . . . " moaned Jerry, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes.

"Oh . . . Bobby . . . that hurt. Fuck me . . . it hurts . . ."

"It's over now, Jerry," said Bobby. He wanted to comfort the old man now - wished he could put his arms around his shoulders — even kiss him on the cheek like he'd had to as a child.

"It hurts," said Jerry. "It hurts worse than I remembered." Bobby went out and found a clean apron on top of a locker. When he got back, Jerry was still rocking back and forth, the injured limb held close to his body, his eyes still closed.

"C'mon, Jerry. Here we go," said Bobby. He fashioned a serviceable sling out of the apron, helped the old man's arm into it, then primly adjusted it around his neck.