Hugh looked sleepily up at Brian as he wiped away a string of drool from beside his mouth. "It seems that Eddie has a gun?" He found his Notebook resting under his chin and folded it closed. It was dark in the room. His roommate Charles was sprawled in the next bed, snoring softly, still dressed in his work clothes. The window showed the orange glow of city-lit night sky, and, nearer, the hissing green tint of a mercury-vapor street lamp.

"Let’s not quibble about word choice, Hugh. This is of the nature of an emergency."

"A ‘little problem’ that is ‘of the nature of an emergency.’ Brian, take three deep breaths, and let me process this, all right? Remember Gilly: ‘With each passing breath, I am growing more and more deeply relaaaaaaaxed.’" He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. "All right: Eddie Dean has a gun. God," he murmured, "I hate waking up in this place. And you’ve seen this gun?"

"Yes. So have half the people on the men’s floor."

"This is a rifle, or a handgun?"

"It’s a .38 Police Special, according to him. He seems very knowledgeable."

"Okay, others have seen it. He’s flashing it around?"

"More like a private viewing in his room. He keeps it in his bedside table and calls it his ‘little equalizer.’ It was given to him ‘by one of his father’s friends’ because his father has ‘political enemies.’ You know how Eddie is."

"Yes, unfortunately. Translate that, ‘I bought this in a pawnshop in a delusional state, and some greedy, stupid bastard sold it to me.’ Are any of US his father’s enemies?"

"Not so loud! I don’t get that from him at all. What I get is, ‘See what a macho man I am.’ He feels down deep that he’s not impressive, and now he’s got something that is."

"Oh shit, that guy’s a malfunctioning sociopath. He doesn’t belong here." Hugh sighed, wiped his face, and rubbed his head. "Why did they let him in, in the first place?"

"That’s neither here nor there, Hugh. We need your help with this."

"Has Dennis seen the gun? Does Dennis know about this?"

"He may have, I didn’t notice everyone who dropped by."

"Okay. Brian, chances are, this will resolve itself if we all just cool our jets here. Enough people know about it now, it will be all over the house tomorrow. The staff will get wind of it They will call him in after they call the police, and he and his gun will be removed by the boys in blue—case closed, problem solved!"

"Exactly. That’s just what I told him—except for the police part."

"Oh," said Hugh as he fished his cigarettes and lighter out of his shirt pocket. "You did," he said as he tapped a cigarette from the pack, packed it a few times against the lighter, and lit it. "Did it occur to you…?"

"Hugh, I needed to establish a bond of trust with the man. Say, could you spare one of those?"

"Yeah. Sure. Where are my manners? Why don’t you pull up a corner of the bed, sit a spell, and see if you can establish a bond of trust with me." He lit another cigarette and passed it to Brian, who squatted on his haunches. "Okay. Let me reframe this completely. With your youth, good looks, and bond of trust with a delusional psychopath, and my rapidly deteriorating intellect, we’re going to solve this little problem, vous et moi. This little .38-caliber problem, is it loaded?" Hugh looked at his watch. It was almost 11 o’clock. Eddie had a single-occupancy room. Brian must have established quite a bond of trust.

"I don’t think so. He does have a box of ammunition though—Hugh Darlin, we don’t need your intellect. All we need is your car. He’s agreed to keep it in your car, ‘until things cool off.’"

"He’s agreed to keep a possibly loaded felony in my car? How thoughtful! Brian, no! Dennis has a car. Go talk to Dennis."

"Dennis takes his car to work every day. You leave yours here and walk to work. That’s why it will be safe for him to keep it there. He’ll know where it is."

"In case he… needs it?"

"Let’s not think that way. His ‘little equalizer’ will be ‘safe.’ ‘Until things cool off.’"

"Oooh-kaay. We are bit players in a gangster movie, starring Eddie Dean."

"I just knew you’d get there, Hugh!"

"All right, let me think. If the gun is not loaded, and locked in the trunk, I don’t think it’s illegal, even without a permit. Guys without permits transport them to pistol ranges. I guess. Okay, you use your bond of trust to find out if the gun is loaded, and if it is explain to him that it’s not just house contraband, it’s—"

"I think he knows all that stuff about guns and the law, Hugh. That’s all part of the thrill."

"Oh yes, and so is getting us to play aid-and-abettors in his movie." Hugh stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "All right. You explain it to him: Unloaded. In the trunk. In the wheel well. With the spare tire. Nice and safe. Meanwhile, I’ll find Dennis."

"Why do you keep harping on Dennis?"

"Because like all those people who write to Dear Abbey, I obviously need Professional Help."

Dennis was not in his room. Hugh went down the stairs.

The second floor, the women’s floor, was off-limits after 9 P.M. Clytie Bedford sat in one of the lounge chairs at the hallway entrance in her pajamas and robe, smoking furiously. Her hair, platinum-dyed, teased into a bubble, and varnished with spray, made a sparkling halo under the hallway light.

"Hi, Clytie," said Hugh. "Seen Dennis this evening?" She turned her meticulously made-up face toward him. Her lips, outlined in eyebrow pencil, were brown.

"No Hugh, I haven’t. Say, could you spare a couple of cigarettes? This is my last one."

"Sure." Hugh shook three cigarettes from the pack and offered them.

"Oh, I forgot, you smoke those non-filters. They’d be too strong. Say, you’ve got a car. Could you drive me down to the Seven-Eleven so I can buy some? I’ll buy you a pack for your trouble. It would be good to get out."

"In p.j.s and a bathrobe?"

"Oh no. Of course not. You just slip into some flats and an overcoat, button up, perfectly decent."

"Maybe we can do that in about, oh, fifteen minutes. I promised Brian I’d do something for him first. Shouldn’t take long though."

"In that case I will try one of those Camels… You know, I said I hadn’t seen Dennis? I haven’t seen Rose either. She’s still out. Maybe they’re making a night of it."

"Maybe so. I’ll check it out." Hugh resumed his descent.

Three people were watching late-night television. None of them was Dennis. None of them was the night counselor, Jim Bledsoe, either. Hugh looked at his watch. It was 11:28. He pushed through the front door. Dennis’ GTO was not parked in its usual spot.

Outside, the cold quickly soaked through Hugh’s sweater and shirt. He trotted to the great boat of a car that was now his, unlocked the passenger door, and slid in. His wind-breaker was still on the seat, where he had left it that afternoon. He pulled it on. Still cold. Might as well warm up the car now. After much pumping of the gas pedal and winding of the starter motor, the engine coughed into running mode.

The half a joint was still under the floor mat. While scanning the barren streets for imagined police cars, he lit a cigarette for cover, lit the joint, took three deep, hurried hits, snuffed it out, and re-hid it. He was shivering with cold and tension. He took a deep drag of the cigarette, closed his eyes, and stretched as he exhaled. He surveyed the front door and walkway: silence and stillness.

The engine threatened to quit, so he gunned it and turned on the heater to an enthusiastic gush of cold air. The marijuana took effect. Everything was going to be all right. A little classical music, perhaps.

‘Ah,’ he thought as the car warmed up to WRR, ‘Dripplebladder’s Piano Concerto in D Minus. Nowhere else has Dripplebladder explored his prostate problems at such length and in such intense detail. And pianist Earnest Troll certainly does justice to the nerve-wracking quality that distinguishes’—A flash of light from the front door caught his eye.

Brian emerged, then Eddie Dean in his familiar plaid, cradling a bulky white packet against his bare chest. ‘Jesus,’ Hugh thought, ‘he’s wrapped the damn thing in his shirt.’ He turned off the engine, got out of the car, and went to open the trunk. As usual, this took considerable concentration. The key did not want to turn until he applied the proper amount of pressure to the trunk lid.

"Where the hell were you?" snarled Eddie Dean. The key turned and the trunk lid popped open.

"Hugh," said Brian, "We need to have a little conference." Hugh gave Eddie a passing glance before turning his attention fully to Brian.

"Confer away," he said. "But first, I’ve got a hand towel back here somewhere—ahh, here!—so Mr. Dean can rewrap his package and Put His Shirt Back On."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" snarled Eddie Dean.

"Eddie, Dear," sang Brian before Hugh could respond. "Hugh, could you give us a private moment?"

Hugh handed Brian the grubby towel, snapped, "No more crap out of him, Brian!" and returned to the driver’s-side door, imagining what a pleasure it would be to slam the trunk door down on Eddie’s stupid red head. He lit a cigarette and listened to the murmur of Brian’s soothing voice and Eddie’s gangster snarls. A car passed on McKinney Avenue, three blocks away. Hugh strode back to the rear of the car.

"..and we all have your best interests at heart, Eddie," Brian was saying.

"We certainly do, Eddie," said Hugh. "And it is not in any of our best interests to be caught here in the middle of the night standing in front of a well-lit open trunk, if the police happen by, with one of us holding an illegal handgun wrapped in the shirt he is not wearing." Eddie’s eyes were flicking back and forth, scanning a document only he could read.

"I’ll need a key," said Eddie.

"Oh, right," said Hugh. "I’ll have a spare key made first thing tomorrow. Meanwhile, ‘If it is to be done,’ as the lady said, ‘let it be done quickly.’" He motioned Eddie toward the trunk.

"Tonight," said Eddie sullenly.

"Fine, tonight," said Hugh. "Right after we solve our mutual problem here, Brian."

"Right," said Brian, putting his arm around Eddie and moving him toward the open trunk. "Time is of the essence, Edward."

"Cover story," muttered Eddie into a space only he could see. As slowly as a man in a dream he began to unfold his shirt. "We got to have…"

"A cover story, Eddie? You bet!" said Hugh, taking the towel from Brian and spreading it in the trunk like a picnic tablecloth. He heard the click of the front door latch fifteen yards away. "And our cover story for right now is THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR HELPING ME CHANGE THAT FLAT TIRE." The door grated open, light flashed down the walk, and Clytie Bedford appeared, gazing owlishly into the dark. Eddie stared hypnotized at the white wad in his shaking hands from which a blue-steel .38 revolver clattered into the floor of the trunk.

"THAT TIRE TOOL SURE IS HEAVY," yelled Hugh. "Ammunition!" he hissed. "Where the hell’s the ammunition?"

"Pocket," giggled Eddie. "I’ve something in my pocket."

Clytie Bedford was ambling down the walkway toward them, dressed, as promised, in an overcoat and pajamas. "Hugh?" she called out querulously. "Hugh? You said fifteen minutes. It’s been half an hour."

"Brian," said Hugh, "you handle here, I handle there. FLAT TIRE, CLYTIE." He hurried to meet her, as Brian said, "Consider it done" to his departing back.

"Clytie, good to see you," said Hugh, taking her arm. "I’m really sorry about the delay, but we had to fix a flat."

"I thought you said you had something to do for Brian," said Clytie. "Only take fifteen minutes."

"Right," said Hugh. "And then we discovered the flat tire. Here, let me get you into a nice warm car." He opened the passenger-side door and helped her in. "Just a second. I have to help the guys finish up back there. You’ll need to slam that door good and hard. Here, I’ll help you." He hurried to the back of the car, slapping his pockets.

"Looking for these?" said Brian, holding out his car keys with one hand and slamming the trunk lid down with the other. "They were in the trunk latch." The trunk lid popped back up.

"You have to just ease it down and lean on it til it clicks," said Hugh. "Like this."

"I come, too," said Eddie. "Get the key made."

"Dear sweet Eddie, I’m afraid that’s just not possible," said Brian. "You seem to have wet your pants."

"Cover story?" whined Eddie, blotting at the crotch of his pants with his shirt.

"We do need to agree on what it was we did tonight," said Brian.

"Right," said Hugh. "Okay, the man who sold Eddie the gun…"

"Gave it to me," said Eddie. "Gave it to me for protection."

"Gave it to you for protection, then," said Hugh. "He lives very near here, at a house over on Thomas. We don’t remember the address, Brian and I, and Eddie…"

"You want to protect his identity, Eddie," said Brian. "Right? You said he was a family friend."

"Right," said Eddie. "But he lives in Oak Cliff."

"We don’t have time for him to live in Oak Cliff," said Hugh.

"And you let me drive," said Eddie, "because only I know how to get there."

"Never happen," said Hugh. "We have to return the gun, and change a tire, all in about half an hour. Our story has to match Clytie’s story, remember?"

"Speak of the devil," said Brian as Clytie opened the door.

"Hugh?" she called out.

"With you in a second, Clytie!"

"You got a cigarette?"

Hugh walked over to her, fishing the cigarettes from his pocket.

"You bet. Here’s the cigarette, here’s the keys. Why don’t you start the car, and I’ll be right with you. Let’s close the door now." Hugh walked back to Brian and Eddie.

"All right," said Brian. "We drove over to a house on Thomas. You and I stayed in the car, while Eddie took the gun in. He was only gone a couple of minutes. On the way back, you said the car was driving funny…" The car engine rumbled to life.

"Wasn’t steering right," said Hugh. "So when we got back, we checked, and sure enough, the right rear tire was dangerously low. So we changed it. Easy and fast, since there were three of us—Say, did Clytie see you guys come down?"

"I don’t remember seeing her," said Brian. "Did you, Eddie?" Eddie shook his head slowly.

"So you guys were here when I came down," said Hugh. "As far as Clytie is concerned we had to…?"

"Go out and get Eddie a couple of packs of Marlboros," said Brian.

"Did and done!" said Hugh.

"Now you’d better go take care of your next wife," said Brian. "She really has plans for you."

"Cover story for that," said Hugh, "Is ‘I already proposed to Brian, and he accepted.’"

"Sorry," said Brian. "I turned you down."

"Aw, Brian!"

"Bad teeth, Hugh. I cannot abide a man who doesn’t floss. Besides, you’re carrying Eddie’s illegitimate child."

"Key," said Eddie.

"I’ll make sure you get a key," said Hugh over his shoulder as they parted company.

"So," said Clytie as she slid aside to let Hugh behind the wheel, "what was all that about?"

"That was about how much or how little I owed them for helping change the tire," said Hugh. "I had just bought Eddie two packs of Marlboros, so it was kind of complicated." Hugh put the car in gear and eased out into the street.

"You took them to get cigarettes? Why didn’t you take me?"

"Yeah, well, you see…"

"That’s all right, Hugh," she said, giving the inside of his thigh a friendly pat and leaving her hand there. "I think I understand."

"Yes. Well. Look, I have to go to the Tom Thumb on Cedar Springs and get a key made. Can you just get your cigarettes there?"

"I really need to see if Phil is working at the Seven Eleven. He does a special little thing for me. I’ll make it worth your while," said Clytie, running her fingertips along his thigh.

"That won’t be necessary," said Hugh, thoroughly aroused. "It’s not that much out of the way."

"Oh, good," said Clytie as they pulled up in front of the Seven Eleven. "Phil’s there. I’ll just be a minute, dear." Her lips brushed his cheek, then she was out of the car.

As Clytie hurried into the store, Hugh noticed that her legs were tan, bare, and nicely turned. ‘Oh good,’ he thought absently. ‘She’s rolled up her pajamas.’ Then, as she stood at the counter with her back turned directly to him, he noticed a bulge in her coat. The right pocket was stuffed. Unbidden, his mind flashed the picture of Clytie naked from the waist down.

Clytie had tuned the radio to an easy-listening station, and Bette Midler was singing that some thought love was a hunger, an endless, aching need, while she thought love was a flower and you its only seed.

"Oh Jeez," he murmured to his crotch. "You are no help at all."

By the time Clytie emerged from the store, Hugh had made up his mind: He would be polite, friendly, and strictly business.

"So," he said with cheerful crispness as Clytie got in, "Now you’re taken care of. Ready to go back to the house, now?"

"I was hoping you and I might go somewhere quiet," said Clytie, taking a small envelope from the depths of her handbag and removing a joint, "and share one of these," Clytie had caught his tone and adopted her own version of it. "See"—she patted his knee and gave it a friendly squeeze. "I told you I’d make it worth your while. As for anything else, Hugh, that’s up to you. I’m not going to force myself on you." She put the joint on the seat between them and began opening a pack of cigarettes. "I just thought, well, I don’t know about you, but I left my husband in New York a year and a half ago, and, Baby, it’s been a long, long time." She pulled forth a cigarette with her nails—manicured and painted brown to match her lips—lit it, and mouthed out a smoke ring.

"You’re not worried about messing up your hair?" said Hugh.

…

Hugh kissed Clytie good night at the house door and looked at his watch. It was almost 2 AM. "I’ve still got to see if that trunk key works," he told her. "Think you’ll be able to get some sleep now?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said, leaning forward for another kiss, which he gave her before turning and striding toward the car, testing each pocket in turn for the new trunk key.

It was after 2:00 by the time he located the key. It had slipped into the crevice between the front seat and its back. Like the original, it worked when the proper amount of pressure was applied to the trunk lid. After a panicked search, he found the gun wedged under the left tail light. Through the towel, he felt the outlines of pistol and ammunition box. He scanned the street before unwrapping the packet and taking a quick look at the revolver to see if it was loaded. It was cold and steel and purple under the street light. And empty. He rewrapped it, stowed it in the wheel well behind the spare tire, and leaned the trunk lid closed on what was now his problem.

When Hugh entered the house, Brian greeted him from the TV Room door. "Goodness, don’t we reek of drugs, sex, and rock and roll—eau de back seat!"

"It was of the nature of saving a damsel in distress while running errands, Brian. Thanks for waiting up." Hugh made sure Brian was alone. "And the key is in this pack of Marlboros."

"I had to stay up to wash Eddie’s clothes anyway. I’ll give him the key if he asks for it, but, personally, I’m hoping he’ll forget it. He’s coming to terms with a number of things right now, not just where his gun is."

"Did regressing to the diaper-wetting stage mess with his gangster movie?"

"Not so much that as, ‘Can you be gay without turning into a transvestite?’ ‘How do I really feel about Daddy?’ That sort of thing. We’re coming to terms with something like reality."

"Yeah, I thought his ‘My father has enemies and I have a gun’ was pretty transparent… You know, Clytie and I were out at White Rock Lake, and I wanted to say, ‘Excuse me, I’ve got to take a leak,’ and just get that sucker out and chuck it off the nearest pier. ‘So long, Excalibur!’"

"If push comes to shove tomorrow—no, today now, isn’t it?—you may want to make that the back-up story about what finally happened to our little problem."

"Ohh, damn, damn, damn, damn! Thanks for reminding me, we may face the concerned humanist version of the third degree tomorrow. Okay, you and I had this little talk, and I went out and did it. But the truth is, I’ve got to get something resembling sleep between now and 6 AM. Good night, sweet prince, and may flights of angels sing me to my rest. And, yes, I’ll take a shower."

…