“You’d better watch the pig,” Goldie said. “He’s already got his piggy eyes on a girl.”

“Don’t worry about Hinch,” Furia said. “What’ll it be, doll? Steak and fries? Live it up.”

“I’m not hungry. Just coffee.”

Furia shrugged. He had stripped off his gloves and he began to drum on the table with his neat little nails. His Mediterranean eyes were glazed. In the glare of the fluorescents his skin had a greenish shine.

The diner was jumping with soul music, orders, dishes, talk. There was a lively smell of frying onions and meat. Furia drank it in. The overcast in his eyes was from pride at his achievement and regret that these squares could not know his power. Goldie had seen it before, a recklessness that would later rush to relieve itself. She had her own needs, which involved perpetual thought. His violence kept her squirming.

“Hey, you,” Furia said. The girl with the versatile rump was delivering a trayful of grinders to the next booth. “We ain’t got all year.”

Goldie shut her eyes. When she opened them the girl was clearing the dirty dishes from their table. She was leaning far over, her left breast over Furia’s hands.

“I’ll be right back, folks.” She flicked a rag over the table and seesawed away.

“That chick is stacked what I mean,” Furia said. “As good as you, Goldie.”

“I think she recognized me,” Goldie said.

“You think. You’re always thinking.”

“I’m not sure. She could have. She was starting high school when I left New Bradford. Her name is Griggs, Marie Griggs. Let’s split, Fure.”

“You make me throw up. And she did? It’s a free country, ain’t it? Two people having a bite?”

“Why take chances?”

“Who’s taking chances?”

“You are. With that bag between your legs. And packing the gun.”

“We’ll take off when I’ve ate my steak.” His lips were thinning down. “Now knock it off, she’s coming back. Steak medium-well, side order fries, two black. And don’t take all night.”