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to shake hands with him, then Wetzel would know how much pain he’d caused Tom, which would make him happy, the sadistic son of a bitch. More than anything he didn’t want to make Louis Wetzel happy.
    So he reached out and took the big man’s hand.
    “Good to see you, Tommyboy,” Wetzel said, taking it and holding on.
    “Yeah,” Tom replied. “How you doing, Louie?” Why the fuck wouldn’t he let go?
    “Great. ’Cept for my back. Had an accident downa Point … I worked at Bethlehem for years. Was working inna rod factory and shit got overheated and jumped on me. Got third-degree burns on my legs, and when I fell down I fucked up my back.”
    “That’s too bad,” Tom said. Good, he thought, may it hurt you every day for the rest of your sick fucking life, you piece of shit. He finally managed to extricate himself from Wetzel’s grasp.
    “That must seriously limit your mobility,” Ty said, leaning on the hood of someone’s ’76 Caddy.
    “Nah,” Louis said, glaring at Ty, as though he’d been cursed out. “Not that bad at all. I could still take you, buddy.”
    “Don’t doubt it at all, Lou,” Ty said.
    “’Course, if I had a way wif words, like Tommyboy here, I could write me some movies and make a ton of money. ’Cause you guys know I got the fucking stories.”
    “No doubt,” Ty said. “Let’s hear one. Just for old time’s sake.”
    “Shouldn’t we be getting along?” Tom said. He tried not to look at Louis as he spoke, but glancing down at the street was even worse. For just below him was the sewer grate, rusted, ancient … Was it possibly the same grate from twenty-five years ago? Sure it was … Nothing stayed the same except the sewers in Baltimore.
    “What’s a matter?” Louis said. “You don’t wanna hear my story, Tom? You only listen to stories now if they pay you, is that it?”
    “No, that’s not it.” Tom felt the weight of Louis’s reptilian gaze glowering down at him, but in spite of it, he felt angry now. He really wasn’t the helpless kid he’d been back then, with a father who didn’t speak to him and an insane mother. Hanging out in bars as he had for so many years, he’d had more than his share of fights, physical as well as verbal. Indeed, the only place he felt really helpless was when he was back home … Baltimore was like some great behemoth that he could never quite slay.
    “What is it then?” Louis said.
    Tommy found himself smiling at Louis, and sticking his own face in the big man’s chest.
    “It’s you, Lou. I know what story you want to tell. But I don’t want to hear it.”
    Wetzel laughed and glowered down at him. “Yeah? What story is that?”
    “You wanna tell the one about how you stuck me in the sewer when I was eight years old. How you stepped on my fingers when I tried to push the grate up, and how you found a rat and threw him down there on top of me. And then left me down there for four fucking hours.”
    Louis looked taken aback. He wasn’t used to such impudence from his victims.
    “Well, the thing is, Tommy,” Louis started, suddenly grabbing Tom by the neck and squeezing, “the story ain’t done yet. See, in the earlier version you got away, ’cause Herbert Snyder happened to be home on leave from the navy and the shithead let you out. But this time you stay down there for good, you rich little Hollywood cocksucker.”
    The pain in Tommy’s neck was unbearable. He managed a weak swing, clipping Louis on the side of the head, which accomplished nothing but further infuriated the big man.
    “Down we go,” Louis said.
    He pushed Tommy to his knees, and just for a second Tommy had the optimistic thought that Louis would have to pull off the sewer grate to stuff him inside, and during that interval maybe he could—if he could get his breath—run away.
    But now he saw what he should have known all along. The grate had been pulled aside already. Jesus, this had been Ty’s plan the whole time.
    “Down we go,