Elmo looked up. He still didn't see them. He knew the light from his garage didn't bother them because there was no light from his garage. He had covered all the windows with heavy black plastic so no light would leak through. But he knew that would not satisfy Curt, and he was just tired of explaining.

"I'll work on it, Curt," he said. 'Tm sorry."

"He's sorry, he says," Phyllis said. "Make him really sorry, Curt. Punch him out."

"Yeah. Maybe I should. And listen, that damned radio of yours, you're playing it too loud at night. How'd you like me to stuff it down your throat?"

Curt came around the corner of Elmo Wimpler's garage, six-foot-three, bulging biceps, bulging beer belly. He had steel-wool hair and a sneering mouth.

Behind him was Phyllis. She had teased blonde hair and also wore a sneer, but below the sneer, she wore

a halter top over full breasts and a pair of skimpy, « andfortune he deserved.

cutoff jeans that showed her ripe, round thighs. Elmo often saw her out his kitchen window while she was gardening, bent over, as if trying to show him her round, little bottom.

He thought about telling Curt that he didn't have a radio, that the only musical sound Curt might hear coming from the garage would be Elmo humming. But why bother?

"I'll try to keep it down, Curt," he told the big * He«ached out with his hands. He could feel the

man, who blocked his way to the garage.

" Til try to keep it down, Curt,' " Phyllis mim-

icked nastily. "He makes me sick. Belt him." f,

"He ain't worth it," Curt said, hitching up his But he couldn t see the car.

0r• His heart beat a little faster, and he walked

pants, which immediately started their inevitable slide down his burgeoning belly. ¦ "Go ahead, Curt, punch him out. Punch out his pissy little face."

Curt turned to tell Phyllis how he didn't want to dirty his hands on wimpy garbage, and Elmo took the opportunity to slip past the big man and into his garage. He shut and locked the door behind him. Suddenly he felt relief, but it lasted only a few seconds.