After the lovesick dick and the rare eating customer disappeared, I picked up their things. The brown-coated guy forgot his change. I rang up his ticket like he was there, and put the change on his table. He’d looked like he needed it. I added the dishes to the sink; it was fine, not full yet.

Gunn’s was empty now, thanks to the dark and rain. It stank of smoke, booze and broken dreams. I decided to try a little rain myself. The door was inset enough to cover me. My sign turned the puddles a queasy green. I’d thought it would be good for a joke; Tommy Gun? But people don’t like to laugh and pay you, too.

A cab drifted by, a ’35 Buick, and stopped to see if I wanted a ride. “Nah, just breathing.”

The driver was mad. “I just passed two guys walking in the rain, near the 2nd Street Park. Wet as sheep in a waterfall. But would they help me fill this clunker’s tank? Say, waddya think about the Japs in Xuzhou?”

“You let ‘em off there?” I asked.

“I’ll let you off in hell!” He peeled out.