Tm surprised. After all that lifeboat shit they were feeding everybody.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Christ. They were saying all kinds of weird stuff. There was a conspiracy going on. They knew that Henry and Charles and I were involved. We were all in bad trouble and there was only room for one guy on the lifeboat out. And that guy was going to be the guy that talked first.' He sniffed again, and rubbed his nose with his knuckle. 'In a way, it got worse after my dad sent the lawyer up. "Why do you need a lawyer if you're innocent," all that kind of shit. Thing is, even the fucking lawyer couldn't figure out what they were trying to get me to confess to. They kept saying that my friends – Henry and Charles – had ratted on me.

That they were the guilty ones, and if I didn't start talking I might get blamed for something I didn't even do.'

My heart was pounding, and not just from the cocaine. 'Talking?'

I said. 'About what?'

'Search me. My lawyer said not to worry, that they were full of shit. I talked to Charles and he said they were giving him the same line, too. And 1 mean – I know you like Henry but I think he got pretty flipped out by the whole thing.'

'What?'

'Well, I mean, he's so straight, probably never even had an overdue library book, and out of the blue here comes the fucking FB7 all over him. I don't know what the hell he told them, but he was trying to point them in any direction but towards himself 'Like what direction?'

'Like me.' He reached for a cigarette. 'And, I hate to say it, but I think towards you.'

The?'

'I never brought your name up, man. I hardly fucking know you. But they got it from somewhere. And it wasn't from me.'

'You mean they actually mentioned my name"!' I said, after a stunned silence.

'Maybe Marion gave it to them or something, I don't know.

God knows, they had Bram's name, Laura's, even Jud Mac Kenna's… Yours was only once or twice, towards the end there.

Don't ask me why, but I had the idea the Feebies went over to talk to you. I guess that would've been the night before they found Bunny's body. They were coming over to talk to Charles again, I know that, but Henry called and tipped him off that they were on the way. That was when I was staying over at the twins'.

Well, I didn't want to see them, either, so I headed over to Bram's, and Charles I guess just went to some townie bar and got completely rucked up.'

My heart was thumping so wildly I thought it would burst in my chest like a red balloon. Had Henry got scared, tried to sic 1 the FBI on me? That didn't make sense. There was no way, at least that I could see, he could set me up without incriminating himself. Then again (paranoia, I thought,,' have to stop this), maybe it was no coincidence that Charles had stopped by my room that night on his way to the bar. Maybe he had been apprised of the whole thing and – unbeknownst to Henry – had come over and successfully lured me out of harm's way.

'You look like you could use a drink, man,' said Cloke presently.

'Yeah,' 1 said. I had been sitting for a long time without saying anything. 'Yeah, I guess I could.'

'Why don't you go to the Villager tonight? Thirsty Thursday.

Two for the price of one.'

'Are you going?'

'Everybody's going. Shit. You're trying to tell me you never went to Thirsty Thursday before?'

So I went to Thirsty Thursday, with Cloke and Judy, with Bram and Sophie Dearbold and some friends of Sophie's, and a lot of other people i didn't even know, and though I don't know what time I got home I didn't wake up till six the next evening, when Sophie knocked at my door. My stomach hurt and my head was splitting in two, but I put on my robe and let her in. She had just got out of ceramics class and was wearing a T-shirt and faded old jeans. She had brought me a bagel from the snack bar.

'Are you okay?' she said.

'Yes,' I said, though I had to hold on to the back of my chair to stand up.

'You were really drunk last night.'

'I know,' I said. Getting out of bed had made me feel, suddenly, much worse. Red spots jumped in front of my eyes.

'I was worried. I thought I'd better come check on you.' She laughed. 'Nobody's seen you all day. Somebody told me they saw the flag at the guard booth at half-mast and I was afraid you might be dead.'

I sat on the bed, breathing hard, and stared at her. Her face was like a half-remembered fragment of dream – bar? I thought.

There had been the bar – Irish whiskeys and a pinball game with Bram, Sophie's face blue in the sleazy neon light. More cocaine, cut into lines with a school ID, off the side of a compact-disc case. Then a ride in the back of someone's truck, a Gulf sign on the highway, someone's apartment? The rest of the evening was black. Vaguely I remembered a long, earnest conversation with Sophie, standing by an ice-filled sink in someone's kitchen (Meister Brau and Genesee, MOMA calendar on the wall). Certainly – a coil of fear wrenched in my stomach – certainly I hadn't said anything about Bunny. Certainly not. Rather frantically, I searched my memory. Certainly, if I had, she would not be in my room now, looking at me the way she was, would not have brought me this toasted bagel on a paper plate, the smell of which (it was an onion bagel) made me want to retch.

'How did I get home?' I said, looking up at her.

'Don't you remember?'

'No.' Blood hammered nightmarishly in my temples.

Then you were drunk. We called a cab from Jack Teitelbaum's.'

'And where did we go?'

'Here.'

Had we slept together? Her expression was neutral, offering no clue. If we had, I wasn't sorry – I liked Sophie, I knew she liked me, she was one of the prettiest girls at Hampden besides – but this was the kind of thing you like to know for sure. I was trying to think how I could ask her, tactfully, when someone knocked at the door. The raps were like gun shots. Sharp pains ricocheted through my head.

'Come in,' said Sophie.

Francis stuck his head around the door. 'Well, look at this, would you,' he said. He liked Sophie. 'It's the car trip reunion j| and nobody asked me.'

Sophie stood up. 'Francis! Hello! How've you been?'

'Good, thanks. I haven't talked to you since the funeral.'

'I know. I was thinking about you just the other day. How have you been?'

I lay back on the bed, my stomach boiling. The two of them were conversing animatedly. I wished they would both leave.

'Well well,' said Francis after a long interlude, peering over Sophie's shoulder at me. 'What's wrong with tiny patient?'

'Too much to drink.'

He came over to the bed. He seemed, up close, slightly agitated. 'Well, I hope you've learned your lesson,' he said brightly and then, in Greek, added: 'Important news, my friend.'

My heart sank. I had screwed up. I had been careless, talked too much, said something weird. 'What have I done?' I said, I had said it in English. If Francis was flustered, he didn't look it. 'I haven't the slightest idea,' he said. 'Do you want some tea or something?'

I tried to figure out what he was trying to say. The pounding agony in my head was such that I couldn't concentrate oil anything. Nausea swelled in a great green wave, trembled at the crest, sank and rolled again. I felt saturated with despair.

Everything, I thought tremulously, everything would be okay if only I could have a few moments of quiet and if I lay very, very still.

'No,' I said finally. 'Please.'

'Please what?'

The wave swelled again. I rolled over on my stomach and gave a long, miserable moan.

Sophie caught on first. 'Come on,' she said to Francis, 'let's go. I think we ought to let him go back to sleep.'

I fell into a tormented half-dreaming state from which I woke, several hours later, to a soft knock. The room was now dark.