We sat at two tables pushed together. SkipDevoe was there, and Billie Keegan, the night bartender at Armstrong's. And BobbyRuslander, and Bobby's girl for the evening, a sleepy-eyed redhead named Helen. And a fellow named EddieGrillo who tended bar at an Italian restaurant in the West Forties, and another fellow named Vince who was a sound technician or something like that at CBS Television.

I was drinking bourbon, and it must have been either Jack Daniel's or Early Times, as those were the only brands theMorrisseys stocked. They also carried three or four scotches, Canadian Club, and one brand each of gin and vodka.Two beers, Bud and Heineken.ACognac and a couple of odd cordials.Kahlúa, I suppose, because a lot of people were drinking Black Russians that year. Three brands of Irish whiskey, Bushmill's and Jameson and one called Power's, which nobody ever seemed to order but to which the Morrissey brothers were partial. You'd have thought they'd carry Irish beer, Guinness at least, but Tim Pat Morrissey had told me once that he didn't fancy the bottled Guinness, that it was awful stuff, that he only liked the draft stout and only on the other side of theAtlantic.

They were big men, theMorrisseys, with broad high foreheads and full rust-colored beards. They wore black trousers and highly polished black brogans and white shirts with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, and they wore white butcher's aprons that covered them to their knees. The waiter, a slim, clean-shaven youth, wore the same outfit, but on him it looked like a costume. I think he may have been a cousin. I think he'd have had to have been some sort of blood kin to work there.