“Tomcat?” Cybil’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “Isn’t that a war game?”

“Maybe.” Fox eyed her narrowly. “What are you, my mother? And you don’t have to mention me whipping Gage’s ass at a war game to my mother if you should happen to run into her.”

An hour with the lights, the bells, the patter of antiair-craft cut away even the fading edges of Fox’s pensive mood. It didn’t hurt to stand and watch a trio of attractive women bend and stretch while he drank a victory beer. Gage had never been able to beat him at Tomcat.

“Best view in the house,” Gage commented as they stood back, studying Quinn’s posterior as she approached the line.

“Hard to beat. Friday night leagues are coming in.” Fox glanced over where men and women in bowling shirts passed by the front desk. “Cal’s going to have a full house tonight.”

“There’s Napper.” Gage sipped his beer while he studied the man in the maroon and cream team shirt. “Is he still-”

“Yeah. Had some words with him just a couple days ago. He’s just an older asshole now, with a badge.”

“A fifty-eight.” Layla plopped down to change her shoes after her last frame. “I don’t think I’ve discovered my newest passion.”

“I like it,” Cybil said as she sat beside her. “I’d vote for more attractive footwear, but I like the game, the destruct, reconstruct of it.”

“Meaning?”

“Deliver the ball, destroy the pins. Hit them right, you can make them destroy each other. Then, wait a minute, they’re all back again, like ten soldiers. After all those war games,” she said with a teasing smile for Fox, “I’m starving.” She tipped her head back, looked at Gage. “How’d your battle fare?”

“I do better with cards and women.”

“I kicked his ass, as promised. Beer’s on Gage.”

They didn’t discuss the morning as they sat around a table with pizza and beer. They didn’t talk about their plans for the next day. For the moment, they were simply a group of friends enjoying one another and the entertainment offered in a small, rural town.

“My game next time,” Gage announced. “A nice friendly game of poker.” He sneered at Fox. “We’ll see who’s buying the beer then.”

“Anytime, anywhere.” Fox grinned as he grabbed a slice of pizza. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Strip poker doesn’t count.”

“Does if you win,” he said with his mouth full.

“Look who’s back!” Shelley Kholer wiggled her way over in jeans designed to bruise internal organs and a shirt sized for an undeveloped twelve-year-old. She grabbed Gage’s face with both hands and gave him a long, greedy and slightly drunken kiss.

“Hey, Shell,” he said when he had his tongue back.

“I heard you were back, but haven’t seen hide or hair. Aren’t you just as yummy as ever? Why don’t we-”

“What’s new?” he interrupted, and picked up a beer to shield his mouth from another assault.

“I’m getting a divorce.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“I’m not. Block’s a worthless, two-timing bastard with a dick the size of a pickle. One of those little ones, you know?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Shoulda run away with you,” she said and sent everyone at the table a blurry smile. “Hi, y’all. Hey, Fox! I want to talk to you about my divorce.”

She wanted to talk about her divorce twenty hours out of every twenty-four, Fox thought. The other four were reserved for talking about her sister who’d gotten a little too friendly with Shelley’s husband. “Why don’t you come into the office next week?”

“I can talk freely here. I got no secrets. I got no secrets in the whole damn town. Every sumbitch in it knows my husband got caught with his hand on my sister’s tit. I wanna add that thing, that loss of consortium-that loss of nookie thing to the complaint.”

“We’ll talk about that. Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee up at the counter, and we can-”

“Don’t want coffee. I got a nice buzz on to celebrate my upcoming divorce. I want another beer, and I want to make out with Gage. Like the old days.”

“Why don’t we have one anyway?”

“I could make out with you,” she said to Fox as he rose to lead her away. “Did we ever make out?”

“I was fifteen in the old days,” Gage announced when Fox steered Shelley to the counter. “I just want that on record.”

“She’s so unhappy. Sorry,” Layla murmured. “It’s one of those things I can’t help but pick up on. She’s so miserable.”

“Fox’ll help her through it. It’s what he does.” Cal nodded toward the counter where Shelley sat, listening to Fox, her head resting on his shoulder. “He’s the sort of lawyer who takes the term counselor to heart.”

“If my sister played squeeze the melons with my husband, I’d want to skin him in a divorce, too.” Cybil broke off a tiny corner of a nacho. “That’s if I were married. And after I’d beaten them both to bloody pulps. Is her husband really named Block?”

“Unfortunately,” Cal confirmed.

At the counter, Shelley ignored the coffee, but she listened.

“It’d be better if you didn’t badmouth Block in public. Say whatever you want about him to me, okay? But it’s not good for you to go off on him, especially the size of his dick, in public.”

“He doesn’t really have a little pickle dick,” Shelley muttered. “But he should. He shouldn’t have any dick at all.”

“I know. Are you here by yourself?”

“No.” She sighed now. “I came with my girlfriends. We’re in the arcade. We’re having a Fuck Men night. In the bad way.”

“That’s fine. You’re not driving, are you, Shelley?”

“No, we walked from Arlene’s. We’re going back there after. She’s pissed at her boyfriend.”

“If you’re ready to go while I’m still here, and you want someone to drive you, or walk you, come and get me.”

“You’re the sweetest damn thing in the whole world.”

“Do you want to go back to the arcade?”

“Yeah. We’re going home soon anyway to make apple martinis and watch Thelma and Louise.”

“Sounds great.” He took her arm, steered her clear of Gage and the table, and walked her to the arcade.

Deciding he’d earned another beer, he swung back by the counter, ordered one on Gage’s tab.

“So, you’re sticking it to Shelley in more ways than one.”

Fox didn’t turn at Napper’s voice. “Slow night for crime, Deputy Take-a-Nap?”

“People with real jobs take nights off. What’s your excuse?”

“I like watching people without balls throw them.”

“I wonder what’ll happen to yours when Block finds out you’re doing his wife.”

“Here you go, Fox.” Behind the counter, Holly set down Fox’s drink, gave him a quick, understanding look. She’d worked the counter for enough years to know when trouble was brewing. “Get you something, Deputy?”

“Pitcher of Bud. I bet Block’s going to kick your pansy ass into next week.”

“You’re going to want to stay out of that.” Fox turned now, faced Napper. “Block and Shelley have enough problems without you screwing with them.”

“You telling me what to do?” He jabbed a finger into Fox’s chest, bared his teeth in a fierce “dare you” grin.

“I’m telling you Block and Shelley are going through a tough time and don’t need you making it worse because you want to fuck with me.” Fox picked up his beer. “You need to move.”

“I don’t need to do a goddamn thing. It’s my night off.”

“Yeah? Mine, too.” Fox, who’d never been able to walk away from a dare, tipped the beer down Napper’s shirt. “Oops. Butterfingers.”

“You stupid fuck.” He shoved, and the force of it would’ve knocked Fox on his ass, if he hadn’t anticipated it.

He danced lightly to the side, so that Napper’s forward motion sent the deputy careening into one of the counter stools. When he righted himself, spun to retaliate, he wasn’t just facing Fox, but Gage and Cal as well.

“That’s a damn shame,” Gage drawled. “All that beer wasted. Looks good on you though, Napper.”

“We run your kind out of town these days, Turner.”