"Fuck no, we're not okay. What the hell do you think?"

"Is anyone hurt?"

Purvis was borderline hysterical. "I didn't shoot her, if that's what you mean. Wouldn't make any difference anyhow. I'd need fucking silver bullets to do any good."

Ron hesitated a split second and then laughed outright, in the meantime scribbling a note, "All's okay. Hold," and handing it to the liaison for transmission.

"What're you laughing at?"

"Did you hear what you just said, Matt? Jesus, man. That's one sense of humor."

Thankfully, Purvis laughed, too, dropping the tension a notch. "Yeah, well. What've you got left, right?"

"Right," Ron agreed. "I mean, things could be worse."

He grabbed his forehead at his own choice of words. What the hell was he thinking?

But again Purvis surprised him. After an excruciating pause, he commented, "You're pretty funny yourself. How worse could they get?"

"Okay, I know you've had a pisser of a day, Matt. You're in a world of hurt." Relieved to be back on track, Ron studied the board across from him. "Your job, your apartment, the restraining order, falling off the wagon… Pretty understandable that you feel shoved in a corner."

"You have no idea," Purvis muttered.

"You're right. I don't. But I've helped a lot of people who have. That's why I'm here now. I hear you have a son."

A silence followed this abrupt change of subject. "Yeah."

"What's he up to?" A note on the board read "Army."

"He's in the service."

"Sounds like you're real proud of him."

"Yeah. He's a good kid."

In the background, Linda called out, "You talkin' about Chris? A loser and a faggot, just like his old man."

Ron winced, wishing to hell she were in another room or unconscious. She sounded drunk. With any luck, eventually she'd pass out.