Common sense. Don't stick your hand in a fire. I hung on to my ration of sense. I settled back. I had it under control. But I couldn't help staring.

The front door exploded inward. Two very large brunos brought half the storm in with them. They held the door open for a third man, who came in slow, like he was onstage. He was shorter by a couple of inches but no less muscular. Somebody had used his face to draw a map with a knife. One eye was half-shut permanently. His upper lip was drawn into a perpetual sneer. He radiated nasty. "Oh, boy," Morley said.

"Know them?"

"I know the type."

Saucerhead said it for me. "Don't we all."

The scar-faced guy looked around. He spotted the girl. He started moving. Somebody yelled, "Shut the goddamned door!" The two heavies there took their first good look around and got a read on what kind of people hang out in a place like the Joy House. They shut the door.

I didn't blame them. Some very bad people hang out at Morley's place.

Scarface didn't care. He approached the girl. She refused to see him. He bent, whispered something. She started, then looked him in the eye. She spat. Chodo's kid for sure.

Scarface smiled. He was pleased. He had him an excuse.

There wasn't a sound in the place when he yanked her out of the seat. She betrayed pain by expression but didn't make a sound.

Morley said, "That's it." His voice was soft. Dangerous. You don't mess with his customers. Scarface must not have known where he was. He ignored Morley. Most times that's a fatal error. He was lucky, maybe.

Morley moved. The thugs from the doorway got in his way.

Dotes kicked one in the temple. The guy was twice his size but went down like he'd been whacked with a sledge. The other one made the mistake of grabbing Morley.

Saucerhead and I started moving a second after Dotes did. We circled the action, chasing the scar-faced character. Morley didn't need help. And if he did, Puddle was behind the bar acquiring some engine of destruction.