"Thomas's music taste is eclectic," Manny offered.
"It sucks," Paulie said.
"What do you expect from four cops, a lawyer, and a urologist? We never agree on jackshit," Rollo said.
Thomas shuffled the deck and called for five-card stud. "You know, gentlemen, there's really only two kinds of music in the world."
"Christ, here we go," Stephano muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Good music and bad music," Thomas continued, taking a slow, sensual puff of his cigar and placing it in an ashtray to his left. He began to deal. "The majority of popular music today is total crap-the fast food of song-no nourishment, no soul, no meaning, no art. It's just a way to funnel more money to the one or two remaining international media conglomerates and pay for the Backstreet Boys to go to rehab."
Stephano groaned and got up from the table. "Beer run. Anybody want anything?"
"I'll help," Chick offered.
Paulie stood up and stretched. "I'm going to hit the john."
"Me, too," Manny said, following him.
Rollo shook his head slowly and chuckled, watching his best friend and brother-in-law deal the cards to empty chairs. "You sure know how to clear a room lately, man."
Rollo studied Thomas. He watched him finish the deal and take another puff, squinting in concentration as he spun the cigar between long fingers.
Rollo wouldn't come right out and say anything, but the truth was, Thomas worried the hell out of him.
Thomas had been through so much this last year, and he'd made it through in one piece. But he'd changed. Shut down. And he and Pam were really starting to wonder if he'd ever snap out of it.
"How are the boys?" Thomas asked.
"Great. They miss you."
Thomas nodded silently.
True, Thomas had never been the world's most outgoing guy. Even in college he'd been kind of quiet, but still managed to crack everyone up with his dead-on, dry observations. The girls didn't seem to mind that he was reserved. It must have added to his mystique, because females were always hanging around the fraternity house or the rugby pitch just to get a peek at him.