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trousers pocket, cupping the combined weight of paper and metal, the three sixty-five. He took out a quarter, put it on the bar. It bought him a single shot of gin. He drank the gin, immediately wanted another, but decided it could wait. As he turned away from the bar, the thirst gave way to what was more important at the moment, the hunger for the poker-table, for delicious aces coming his way.

          He moved toward the door that led to the back room. Passing the crowded tables, he was ignored like any casual table passer. They'd forgotten Nellie's tirade and were concentrating on their drinks. But as he neared the door, he had the feeling that a certain pair of eyes were aiming at him. He stopped for a moment, wincing slightly, then continued toward the door. As he reached for the doorknob, something forced him to turn his head.

          He saw her.

          She was sitting alone at the table near the wall. On the table there was a half-full quart-size bottle of beer. There was an empty glass. Now she reached slowly for the bottle and poured some beer into the glass. While she did it, she looked directly at him.

          “Hello, Lil,” he said.

          Not saying anything, she lifted the glass to her mouth and sipped at the beer. She went on looking at him.

          He blinked a few times. He said, “How's it going?”

          She didn't answer. She just sat there and sipped more beer and kept looking at him.

          “I ain't seen you around,” he mumbled. “It's been months now—almost a year, I guess. Or maybe longer than that, I don't know. Where you been?”

          She lowered the glass, leaned back in the chair and didn't say anything.

          “What's the matter?” he said. “Can't you talk?”

          “Not to you.” Her voice was toneless. There was no particular expression on her face. “I have nothing to say to you.”

          He blinked again. Then he started to turn away but for some reason his legs wouldn't move.

          “You don't have to stand there,” she said. “You said hello and that's it. That's all it calls for, just a hello.”

          He stood and gazed at her. This ain't easy, he thought. It's like playing checkers with someone who knows all your moves before you make them. She won't give you no openings at all.

          And what makes it tougher, he told himself, she's still got it, all of it. That face. That body. She's something, all right. But there's nothing you can do about it. All you can do is stand here like a goddam idiot and give yourself a bad time.

          Lillian had dark brown hair, medium brown eyes. Somewhat heavy in the breasts and hips, her body was nonetheless enticing, wasp-waisted and solidly put together. She was an exceptionally good-looking woman.

          Lil was twenty-six. Some five years ago she was married to Corey Bradford. They hadn't stayed married long. It lasted a little over a year. The split-up was caused by his drinking. At that time he'd been wearing the blue of a beat-walking policeman, and for some reason that he couldn't understand he was drinking very heavily. She begged him to stop, then she warned him to stop. And finally one night when he went over the edge with the rams, she chased him down Addison as he dashed toward the river, intending to jump in. He didn't jump in. What stopped him was the sound behind him, the thud as she hit the ground. She suffered a bruised knee, a severely twisted ankle, and a miscarriage. It was a serious miscarriage. There was considerable pain and some complications and it almost did her in. On his knees beside the bed he held her hand and made a sacred vow that he'd stop the drinking. A month later he was crazy drunk again. That ended it.

          He watched her now as she poured more beer into the glass. He frowned slightly, at first not knowing why. Then gradually it came to him. There was something out of kilter in this