It had been one of those days. The kind where you finish with a throat so dry you could spit dust. I'd just finished knocking out an agreement that meant payday for me and my client, and decided it was time to head down to the regular joint for a couple of tossbacks. As I walked through the door of "Tyme Out," Scooter was pulling the tap handle, filling the first pitcher. The frozen pint glass was already on the counter. I could hear it calling:

"Sully, man, good to see you. How go the battles?"

"Stand back, Asshuffer, and let me drink!," I managed to croak out. And with due respect, he gave way, permitting me unfettered access to the beer faucet. Maybe a little hurt look on his face, but I figured it was either that or a big hurt, so I let it pass. Damn, the beer was cold and wet, and that was just what I needed.

I came up for air a few minutes later. The tab runs until I say stop, and this was looking more like a marathon than a sprint. I finished filling the pitcher and pushed it to the other side of the bar. I settled onto the barstool and Scooter made his w ay back over. "You got to leave more cards, Sully. A couple more DUIs coming your way. Jake and Al both got tagged last night." He let out a snicker through the grin. "They were both pretty toasted when they left."

Jake and Al I knew from previous experience. Both of them had "Frequent Flier" written on their livers. It would not be a pretty experience this time. Second time Deweys inside a year. They were going to be spending a few nights in the Gray Bar Motel, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I handed Scooter a stack of business cards, along with a twenty. "Send 'em over when they make bail. Make sure they're not twisted when they leave this time. Tell them I'll see them before noon. Usu al retainer."

That's the great thing about my job. I got nothing against drinking with clients, past present or future. And where I hang out, sooner or later they're all clients. Scooter only calls for a cab if they got money left in their pocket, and that's not to o often.

I did a slow 360 and took in the scene. Scooter had a nice place, for a dive. A Sport Bar in more ways than one, from the Astroturf football field on the ceiling, to the free peanuts on the tables, to the sawdust and shells on the floor. A few TVs str ategically mounted, along with 3 quarter tables, pinball, shuffleboard against the wall, the back room that butted up to the shooting range, CD jukebox. Normally, I'd be thinking about rocking off 100 rounds of .357 on the 25 yard range, just to maintain proficiency. I like making little "Olympic Rings" shooting double-action offhand. Instead, I finished the pitcher and flagged Scooter for another. I took the pitcher and headed for my table. A little 9 ball to keep the senses sharp. I'd been smelling that certain air, like just before a lightning storm. Something different was there, something I couldn't put a finger on, but I figured if I stuck around for awhile, it'd show itself. I racked the diamond and broke.

I was banging them pretty good, between beers and balls. Pool's just a game of angles, and I've always been pretty good at figuring angles. But women, they're a whole ‘nother story altogether. And this one was no different. All curves and a couple of angles in the right places. She'd seen the suit and wanted to know if I was a "narc." I was already suspicious. She wasn't drinking.

"Nice opening line, Darlin'." I gave her a side glance before finishing the 9. "You're new here, hmmm?" She got a little nervous then. "Simple, Babe. I never seen you here before, and nobody with a body like yours would wear a dress like that in a joi nt like this after daylight unless they were new. Rule number 1: When in doubt, ask Scooter first."

"Angie," was her name. I thought she damn near offered me her hand. "Sully," I uttered, and tossed a card on the table in front of her. "What're you drinking? I'm buying," I offered. "Lemme guess. Sapphire Marty, Sahara, tumbled with a twist." Her silence affirmed my instincts. Either this was one cool lady, or she hadn't understood a word I'd said, and was too overwhelmed to talk.

"Angie," I said to Scooter. "2 Sapphires, wave the olive over the vermouth. Shake and a twist."

"First timer, Sully. Never seen her before," Scooter replied, pulling the real Gin from the freezer. "Why the hell not?," I grinned. Damn, the Marty was like syrup.

I walked the drinks back to the table. I hadn't planted and her already empty glass had settled onto the tabletop, toothpick empty. I pushed mine at her, and she downed it. This time I saw her catch the olive with those lips. "You like Scooter's Mart ys. What's on your mind?" I figured this one didn't want any beataround. I waived Scooter for another round, thinking I was already on the short end of the stick, and didn't plan to get any further behind. Either this one had a story, or she was on th e prowl. And either way, she looked like a player who knew the rules. I thought I heard thunder off in the distance.

"I need someone I can trust," she started. "Don't we all," I let slip under my breath. "There've been threats. I can't go to the cops, and I had to make sure you weren't on their side. I mean it. I think I'm in serious trouble. Are you a narc, or a cop, or a DA?"

I almost laughed, except her tone and that look made me hold back. She had savvy, this one, but there was an undercurrent of fear and the two were battling for control. "You're in trouble all right, if you're looking in this joint for someone to trust. " I smiled just a little, not enough that she'd think I was making fun of her, but enough so she could see my teeth. "I'm no narc; I do defense work, not prosecution. If you need a lawyer, and you got a retainer, then we should be talking in my office, not this rathole." Scooter showed up with the Martys. I finally got a taste of the Sapphire. Liquid Ice.

She leaned over the table and tried to look me in the eyes. I've always been a proportion guy. A place for everything and everything in its place. Bigger is better, but only to a point. And there was a pair of 40s pointing me in the face, and they we re full of proportions. I always get thirsty when 40s are around, and this time was no different. I looked up.

"Sit down, Babe. Unless you got an extra one in there, those two are maybe a down payment, but it only buys me for as long as it takes to finish that particular job. If you got trouble, maybe you oughta be spilling your story instead of your tits."

That shocked her. She must have had me marked for a first class chump. She flushed, then got the pouty look, then her eyes teared up; hell, it was ready for a downpour, and we hadn't even had the light show yet. It's no fun when it rains before the li ghtning. I'd hardly rubbed my feet on the carpet, and she was snapping like a high voltage line on a hot day. I got low tolerance for that. Plus she was up three Martys to my one, and that was definitely not what I had in mind.

She looked at me for about three seconds, then I stood up. "Call for an appointment, Babe. I gotta meeting with a couple of good friends. Names of Beam and Bud. Important meeting. Can't miss it."

I headed back over to the bar. "One for the road, Scooter." I never drink and drive. Get the drinking done first, driving comes later, and usually more drinking after that. But never at the same time. Not after sunset. Scooter pushed a Beam rocks a nd a short Bud at me. I tossed another twenty at him, and tossed back the Beam. "If she can make it to the bar, get her drunk and get her story. Something about trouble and threats, but her tits kept getting in the way. Put her drinks on my tab. If i t's interesting, gimme a call." The Bud was like a drink of fresh water. Which reminded me.

Scooter's joint isn't exactly known for it's public facilities. But after a couple of pitchers and some stimulating conversation, it was time to break the seal. I shoulda paid more attention to the guy on the pay phone at the end of the hallway, but I had other business on my mind at the moment. I've always thought that Man is just a device invented by Water to transport itself from one place to another, and it was delivery time. I'd been at the unloading dock for about 30 seconds when the door opene d. The little voice let me know just in time.

Sucker punches are something I know a little about. I've had 'em thrown at me, and I've had to throw 'em. So when I felt the hand grab my right shoulder and pull, I figured it was "Eat or be eaten" time. I came around with a left, and instinctively ca ught the fucker in the throat. He went down with a gurgle, which was only due in part to the fact that he ended up lying at the lowest point of my personal gravity well. I finished up. There was something vaguely familiar about this guy, something I co uldn't quite put a finger on. He looked like the guy from the pay phone in the hall, only now he was soaked from the shoulders up. He reminded me of the last guy that tried taking a cheap shot when I was taking a leak, which was close enough to satisfy my curiosity. For some reason, they all end up looking the same to me.

Scooter's glance told me that Angie was gone. I tossed a twenty at him as I passed the bar. "There's a pile of wet shit on the floor in the head, Scooter. I put it there, but its not mine. Would you mind taking care of it for me?" Scooter gave me the nod up with a question mark and the nod down with an OK. That's 'nother thing I like about Scooter. Business is business. Buddy boy would find himself being fished out of a dumpster in an hour or so by the local boys in blue, sans ID, thanks to an "ano nymous" caller.

Outside, the stars were flashing. I was still smelling that lightning storm smell. Not a cloud in sight. The night was young.

I headed for "The Rice Bowl." I needed Lee Wong's curry, and the episode with Angie had left me a Marty behind. Lee Wong's daughter Joy led me through the maze to my table. Hell, I'd been through that maze so many times I could do it like a rat with a blindfold, but Joy in red silk was always a sight to behold, so I let her lead the way. There's something about well proportioned Oriental women that takes my breath away and leaves me looking for Oxygen.

Just about the time I started thinking about covering Joy with curry while drinking martinis, she broke through my internal dialogue. "Sully, you've been looking like you're in Nirvana. Why don't you slip out of your coat and into a drink?" I snapped back to reality. "Curry Martys, Joy, er, I mean, Sapphire Sahara, and a bowl of Curry, Joy, my flower."

"Sully, you must have had a hell of a day, for you to be talking like that," she giggled. "Curry Martys? My flower? I'll be back." Joy disappeared, which was probably a good thing right then. I'd known Lee and Ming Wong for years. Joy was "Lee Wong 's Daughter," and although we'd always had a decent back-and-forth going, it had never progressed to anything serious. Ming Wong jokingly called me her "drunken round-eye son-in-law" to which I took no great offence. Lee had been one of my first clients after he immigrated and opened The Rice Bowl. Accused of running an opium den and gambling casino. I'd tried the case and won it, and got a huge chunk of publicity for the both of us. The Rice Bowl took off, making Lee Wong a rich man.

Lee Wong came around the corner, carrying my Marty. "Sully! So good to see you again. Joy is bringing curry. How are you? When are you going to marry my daughter?" "Hold your horses, Lee Wong. First the Marty, then marriage, OK?," I replied, laughing and downing the drink. "I hold you to that, Sully," said Lee Wong, as he headed back to the kitchen. "You hear? I hold you to that." Wong disappeared with the gla ss.

Joy Wong reappeared, with a pitcher of Martinis, an enormous bowl of curry, and two glasses. Two waitresses set up rice paper screen panels around the booth, which was already isolated, and disappeared. "What's this, Joy Wong?" I asked, as she settled into the booth next to me, and started pouring two Martys. "Ssshhhh, Sully. Drink first, then ask questions. You have had a hard day. Please allow me to help you relax."

Now, Joy Wong had been a good drinking partner on more than one occasion, and could hold her liquor up to the point where neither of us had any further recollection of the evening. Although there were a few stories about those occasions. There was one night in the Alley Cat where we apparently cleared out a few obnoxious patrons, who had decided they were "in command." According to one witness, "It looked like a fucking Kung Fu movie, man. Sully, she was tossing them and you were catching them and thr owing ‘em outta the door. Absolutely amazing!" Although we never discussed it, I guess we both had feelings for the other; we just never let them get in the way of an otherwise good friendship.

I took half the Marty down. Delicious. A few minutes of curry and I was thinking about Nirvana again, along with the other half of the Marty. Joy sat there, drinking Gin, watching. It went like that for 15 minutes. Curry, Marty, Joy, Curry, Marty, Joy. I was just about convinced. And I was definitely relaxed. Damn if I didn't hear thunder outside, and I coulda swore the walls lit up for a brief second.

I started noticing the fine details about the situation, the way I always notice the details when I drink Gin. Fine booze, fine food, and a fine woman. And a fine fix to be in. And it was time to go. I could feel the application for the Ball & Chain Club for Men being filled out with my name, address and serial number. I could hear the little voice screaming in my benumbed ear "Get Out!!! Get OUT!!!"

I came to. SHIT! Lightning everywhere! Thunder roaring, crashing, smoke, FIRE! "Sully, come ON!" Joy was trying to drag me out of the booth, my dead weight being an absolute hindrance to her efforts. "Wha' happen?," I mumbled over the roar of the f lames. "You relax to sleep. Explosion in kitchen," sobbed Joy. "Come ON, we must get out!" "In the Kitchen?," I yelled. "That's where Lee Wong is!"

I picked up Joy's lithe figure and ran for the exit. I pushed her through the door, into the arms of a firefighter. They were starting to hose the roof, and a crowd was collecting. I headed back in for the kitchen. I heard Joy scream my name.

You know, a lot of things cross your mind when you're in the middle of an emergency. I was thinking, here I am, heading into the kitchen, probably a fucking grease fire, maybe some Tong War Bomb, could be a real mess in there. Then I started thinking, Oh Great, I've been drinking high test, probably flammable myself, don't breathe on anything hot. I doused myself with a couple pitchers of ice water on the way.

The kitchen was a mass of flame. The fire sprinklers were spitting brown water. Fucking maintenance service company was about to turn over an insurance policy, the way I figured. If I lived to sue the bastards.

Nothing could have lived through that flame. Then I remembered.

I soaked a tablecloth with water, wrapped it around my head like a tent, and dove into the kitchen. I knew where the back room was, having won many dollars there on casino nights. Lee Wong was laying on the floor, out like a light, the Skillo Wheel partially on top of him. No time for formalities, so sorry, the joint was going to burn to the ground with the two of us in it. I picked up Lee and slung the tablecloth around his hea d. The smoke was getting pretty thick, but not too thick for me to notice the cases of booze for the back bar. No time to get sentimental, it was gonna burn and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I headed out the door, back into the kitchen .

I don't know how I got out of there. Must have been a thousand degrees. Probably would have burned except for the blast of water from the firehose coming through the front door. I caught just the edge of it, enough to put out the fire that had started on my pants, and edged through the wall. It must have been a hell of a sight, me carrying Lee Wong out of The Rice Bowl, still smoking, drunk, looking like shit, but both of us alive.

Well, I never heard the end of it from Ming Wong. "Stupid fucking crazy ass round eye burned up smoking drunken bastard lawyer." Jesus, she had a mouth on her. And Lee Wong, he never let up. "Sully, when you going to give us Grandson?" I never could resist laughing. "Hold your horses, Lee Wong. First the Marty, then the Grandson." "I hold you to that, Sully. You hear? I hold you to that." Joy never could resist getting in the last word. "Stand back, honorable Asshuffers, er, I mean, ancestors, and let Sully drink!"