It was three-thirty in the morning, and when Rollo the bartender at the O. J. Bar and Grill got off the phone the regulars were discussing Dolly Parton. "And I say she doesn't exist," said one of them.

Another regular said, "Whadaya mean, doesn't exist? She's right there."

"All of a sudden," said the first regular. "I tell you what, you go to the library, you look in—"

"The what?"

"All right," the first regular said, "you go ahead and make jokes, but I'm tellin ya. You go look in the newspapers, the magazines, even a couple years ago, there was no such thing as a Dolly Parton. Then all of a sudden we're supposed to believe not only there is a Dolly Parton, there always was a Dolly Parton."

A third regular, bleary-eyed but interested, said, "So what's your interpretation, Mac?"

"It's that thing," the first regular said, and waved his arms in the air. "Where everybody believes something when it isn't so. What's that? Mass hysteria?"

"No no," said the second regular. "Mass hysteria, that's when everybody's scared of the plague. What you're thinking of is folie a deux."

"It is?"

The third regular said, "It is not. Folie a deux is when you see double."

A fourth regular, asleep till now, lifted his head from the bar to say, "Delirium tremens." Then his head lowered again.

The other regulars were still trying to decide whether or not that had been a contribution to the discussion when a big, gruff-looking man in a leather jacket came in and ordered a draft. Rollo drew it, handed it over, was paid for it, and was not at all surprised when the gruff-looking man said, "I'm looking for a fellow called Tiny."

A lot of more or less gruff-looking men had showed up in the last few hours, looking for Tiny or one of the others already in the back room, which must be pretty crowded by now. "I was just going back there myself," Rollo said. "Come along." And to the regulars he said, "It's mass delusion. Watch the joint a minute."

The second regular said, "I thought mass delusion was when you see the Virgin Mary in church."

The first regular said, "Where'd you expect to see her, dummy, in a disco?"

Rollo walked down to the end of the bar, raised the flap, stepped through, and he and the gruff-looking man walked back past POINTERS and SETTERS and TELEPHONE. Rollo opened the door and said, "Somebody here for Tiny."

"Whadaya say, Frank?"

"Not much," said Frank.

Rollo didn't know exactly what was going on back here, and he didn't want to know, but he never objected to the boys having their meetings here. And they could use the phone all they wanted: local calls only, of course. At the moment there were a dozen or so crowded in here, many of them smoking, all of them drinking. The air was somewhat ripe, and a lot of papers were scattered around on the table, and one of the boys was making a call. That is, he was holding the phone to his face and politely waiting for Rollo to go away.

"Listen, gents," Rollo said. "I just got a phone call I thought I'd pass along, in case anybody's interested. It's about that Byzantine Fire ruby."

There was a general stir in the room. Tiny growled.

"There's some foreign people the landlord knows," Rollo said. "It was the landlord called me. These people, they're religious or something, and they think the ruby's theirs, and they're offering a reward. Twenty-five grand for the ruby and another twenty-five grand if they get the guy who stole it. All private, you know? Under the counter, no publicity."

One of the gents said, "What do they want the guy for?"

"It's some kinda religious thing," Rollo explained. "He's desecrated the ruby, whatever. They want revenge."

Tiny said, "If I find the guy, I'll be happy to sell him, but he's likely to be damaged. They'll have to take him as is."

Rollo said, "My understanding is, that's okay, just so there's enough left so they can do their religious ceremonies on him."

"That's one church service I'd go to," Tiny said.

"If anybody hears anything," Rollo said, "I can put you in touch with the people offering the reward."

"Thanks, Rollo," Tiny said.

Which was a clear dismissal. Rollo went back to the bar, where the regulars were now discussing whether jogging had a bad effect on a person's sex life. There was also an older man down at the other end of the bar, patiently waiting. Rollo went behind the bar, walked down to the older man, and said, "Haven't seen you for a while."

The older man looked surprised and pleased. "You remember me?"

"You're a whisky-and-ginger-ale."

The older man sadly shook his head. "No longer," he said. "The doctors won't let me do anything any more. These days I'm a club-soda-on-the-rocks."

"That's a shame."

"It certainly is."

Rollo went away and made a club soda on the rocks and brought it back. The older man gave it a look of hatred and said, "What do I owe you, Rollo?"

"When you start drinking," Rollo told him, "I'll start charging you."

"Then I'll never go broke in here." The older man lifted the glass. "To happier days, Rollo."

"Amen," said Rollo.

The older man sipped club soda, made a face, and said, "I'm looking, in fact, for a gentleman named Ralph."

Rollo was about to give him directions when he glanced toward the front windows and the sidewalk and street outside. "No, you're not," he said.

The older man looked confused. "I'm not?"

"Just sit tight," Rollo told him, as the fourteen uniformed cops swept into the place and made a beeline for the back room.

"Oh, dear," said the older man. "The doctor warned me off policemen as well."

With the fourteen uniformed cops were two plainclothes cops, one of whom came over to Rollo and said, "You're serving a lot of the wrong people here."

Rollo looked at him in mild amaze. "I am?"

"A criminal element," the plainclothesman said. "You want to watch that."

"Surprisingly enough," Rollo said, as the boys from the back room were herded past by the fourteen cops, "very few of the people who come in here tell me much about their criminal records."

"Just take it as a friendly warning," said the plainclothesman, who didn't look at all friendly.

"You guys rousted me once already!" Tiny yelled, on the way by. "I'm getting very irritated!"

"I tell you what," Rollo said to the plainclothesman. "Why don't you send me a list of the people you don't want me to serve?"

"Merely a word to the wise," the policeman said.

"Better send me two copies," Rollo told him. "I'll have to give one to the American Civil Liberties Union."

"You wanny pay attention, not pay attention," the plain-clothesman said, "it's all the same to me." Outside, there seemed to be some difficulty convincing Tiny to join his friends in the paddy wagon. The two plainclothesmen went out there, withdrawing leather-covered black saps from their rear pockets, and soon the paddy wagon and the bus and the unmarked car all went away.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be out this late," the older man said. He pushed his nearly full club soda away across the bar.

"Closing time," Rollo called to the regulars. They looked thunderstruck; now they'd have to find somewhere else to go.

"It's all because of that ruby," the older man said.

"It is that," agreed Rollo.

"Whoever took it," the older man said, "I believe he'll regret it."

"He will that," agreed Rollo.