Big Trouble

"OK," said Henry, cutting another piece of steak. "We can do the job, and we can see what we find out about Geronimo and Tarzan. But you tell your employer that, number one, we are gonna need sometime, looking around, checking in the trees, you understand? And number two, the price goes up."

The lawyers were puffing vigorously; a dense cloud of smoke billowed outward from their table.

"How much?" asked Rojas.

"Excuse me," said Henry, putting down his fork. He rose from his chair, walked over to the next table, and stood there, waiting, until all four lawyers had stopped talking and were looking at him.

"Gentlemen," said Henry. "Would you mind putting your cigars out?"

The lawyer to Henry's immediate left, Lawyer A, cocked his head and assumed an exaggeratedly quizzical expression, as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"I beg your pardon?" he said.

"I asked you," said Henry, "if you would mind putting your cigars out."

"As a matter of fact, I would mind," said Lawyer A. This got smiles from Lawyers B, C, and D.

"The reason I ask," said Henry, "is, maybe you never thought of this, but when you light those things, everybody else has to smell your smoke. I got a nice New York strip over there, cost me twenty-seven-fifty, and it tastes like I'm eating a cigar."

"Listen, Ace," said Lawyer B. "Number one, there's no rule against smoking in this restaurant. And number two, you are way outta line."

"OK," said Henry, "Number one, my name is not Ace. Number two, I'm not talking about rules, here. I'm talking about manners. There's no rule says I can't come over here and fart on your entree, but I don't do it, because it's bad manners. It detracts from your dining experience, you know? I'm just saying, I don't stink up your lunch, you don't need to stink up everybody else's lunch. So, one more time, I'm asking nice, please put out the cigars, OK?"

"Are you serious?" said Lawyer C, across the table.

"Oh yes," said Henry.

"Un-fucking-believable," said Lawyer C, to his colleagues. "Do you believe this rucking guy?"

"Listen, Ace," said Lawyer D, to Henry. "We're paying customers here, and we happen to like cigars, and if you don't like it, tough shit."

"That's right, Ace," said Lawyer A. He sucked on his cigar, then, holding the cigar between his thumb and forefinger, turned his mouth toward Henry and blew a long, thick stream of smoke into Henry's face. Henry did not move.

When he was done blowing, Lawyer A said, "So listen, Ace, why don't you uhhh ... "

Lawyer A was unable to finish telling Henry what he should do, because Henry had put his hand on Lawyer A's shoulder and squeezed it. He did not appear to be exerting himself, but Lawyer A had gone rigid.

"Uhhh," he said, again.

With his other hand, Henry took Lawyer A's cigar and put it out in his cognac. The other lawyers shifted in their seats, as if preparing to get up and do something, but Henry met their eyes in alphabetical order—B, C, D—and they stayed where they were.

Releasing Lawyer A, who grabbed his shoulder and moaned, Henry walked partway around the table to Lawyer B, who flinched violently as Henry gently but firmly relieved him of his cigar and dropped it into his cognac. At that point, Lawyers C and D put out their cigars unassisted.

"Thank you, gentlemen," said Henry.

Lawyer D, who was the farthest away, said, "You realize that you have committed assault."

"I know," said Henry, shaking his head. "Time was, you really had to hit somebody."

Then he went back to his table, sat down, and resumed cutting his steak. 'Tell your employer," he said to Rojas, "it's going to be another ten. Apiece."

Rojas pretended to think about this, although it was pretty much the figure he already had in mind.

"OK," he said. "Just keep in mind that my employer wants this finished as soon as possible."

"Believe me," said Henry, "we don't wanna stay in this town any longer than we have to."

"You got that right," said Leonard, between chews.

Puggy awoke to the sound of the angel's voice. "Puggy," the voice was calling, softly. Pogey.

Puggy rolled onto his stomach and stuck his face over the edge of his platform. There she was, in a blue uniform, looking up. She smiled when she saw his face. She was beautiful. Even from the tree, Puggy could see she had all her teeth.

"I bring you some lunch," she said. I breen you son lonch.

Puggy started down the tree, then, as Niña giggled, he scooted back onto the platform and wriggled into his pants. He started down again.

"Hey," he said, when he reached the ground. He wished he owned a toothbrush.

"For you," she said, giving him a paper plate with a sandwich on it.

It was turkey on white bread with mayonnaise, lettuce, and sliced tomato. It was the most elaborate meal anybody had ever made for Puggy.

"Thank you for help me," Niña said.

Puggy looked at the wonderful sandwich—it also had & folded napkin—then at Niña.

"Listen," he said. "I love you."

"So what you're telling me," Evan Hanratty, organizer of the Killer game, said to Matt, "is that her mom beat you up? Her mom?"