'Hey!' Wade didn't push back. He didn't like getting pushed but this obviously was just a misunderstanding. He'd explain to this hothead, get it cleared up. 'This is my car. I got locked out-'

McKay pushed him again, up against the truck parked next to him, both hands in the chest. 'Your car, my ass.' Then, turning – screaming over the noise – 'Nigger says he owns a BMW! I say my ass.'

The alarm continued to shriek.

'I say he's stealing the car!'

Wade straightened up, set himself. A dozen men had come out of the bar, and more kept coming. So did this drunken guy, right at him. These were bad odds. Arthur Wade didn't like it but the better part of valor was to walk away and come back when things cooled here.

'Hey! Where are you going? Where do you think you're going?'

One step backward. Two. Hands up, moving away. 'Look, I'm just walking away, I don't want any trouble-'

The drunk kept at him. 'Hey, you don't want any trouble, you don't try to steal cars.' A rush at him, then another push. And then somebody behind him, blocking him.

'Hey now, look guys-'

EEEEeeee!

A shove from behind now, from the other direction. The drunk guy in his face, screaming. 'You guys get away with murder. Anything you fucking want to do-'

And then another sound – even over the screech of the alarm – the picture window of the hardware store exploding in a shower of glass. Jamie O'Toole had thrown one of the Cavern's heavy beer mugs into the window of the hardware store. Now he was in the front display area, amid the lawnmowers and power tools, the coiled clotheslines and the sledgehammers, yelling something.

The violence of the noise, the shrill cacophony, the huge display window smashed, alcohol and testosterone, ratcheting it all up notch by notch.