"Are you listening to me?" The question whipped out, cool and quiet.
"They found enough in your place to put you away."
"It was planted. Somebody set me up. Somebody-"
"Don't bullshit me." His eyes hardened, but whatever disgust he felt he
kept carefully inside. "You have two choices. You can go to jail, or
you can go into a clinic."
"I've got a right-"
"You've got no rights here. You're messed up, Stevie. If you want me
to help you, you're going to do exactly what I tell you."
"Just get me out." Stevie sank to the floor and folded into himself
"Just get me out."
How LONG WILL he have to stay in?" Bev poured the chilled Pouilly Fume
into glasses.
"Three months." Johnno watched her, pleased that the old Bev wasn't
buried too deeply in the newer, sleeker model. "I'm not sure how Pete
pulled it off, nor do I think I want to know, but if Stevie spends his
time in the Whitehurst Clinic, he won't stand trial."
"I'm glad. He needs help, not a jail sentence." She settled on the sofa
beside him, feeling foolishly nervous. "The news is all over the radio.
I was just wondering what to do, what I could do, when you knocked at
the door. Perhaps, in a few weeks, I could go to see him."
"I'm not sure he'll be such a pretty sight."
"He'll need his friends," she said, and set her wine down untasted.
"And are you still?"
She looked up. Her face softened before she lifted a hand to his cheek.
"You look good, Johnno. I always wondered what you were hiding under
that beard."
"The sixties are over. More's the pity. I actually wore a tie last
week."
"Please."
"Well, it was white leather, but a tie nonetheless." He leaned over and
kissed her. Time, he thought, was only time after all. "I've missed
you, Bev."
"The years went by so quickly."
"For some of us. I hear you and P.M. are an item."
She picked up her wine, sipping, stalling. "Did you come to gossip,
Johnno?"
"You know how I adore gossip, luy. Shall I pretend I didn't see the
pictures of you and P.M.?" The familiar sarcasm was back, faint, but
sharp as a blade. "Of course my favorite is of you and Jane, right
after you bloodied her lip." He grabbed Bev's hand before she could
rise, and kissed it. "My hero."
The laughter bubbled up, and though she took her hand away, she relaxed
again. "I had no intention of fighting with her, and no regret that I
did."
"That's the spirit. You Amazon."
"She made a comment about Darren," Bev murmured.
"I'm sorry." His smile faded. When he took her hand again, she let hers
lie comfortably in it.
"I just saw red. I know that's a cliche, but you do when you're