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mask.
      “That fixes it,” Rafer said. He turned away from the seated corpse, expanding his chest importantly. He faced Grogan, who'd walked slowly across the room.
      “You imbecile,” Grogan said quietly. With the back of his hand he hit Rafer across the mouth. Rafer tried to say something and Grogan hit him again. “You imbecile, you,” Grogan said.
      Excited shouts came from the taproom and people were knocking on the door. Then there was the sound of shoulders thudding against the door as they tried to push it off its hinges.
      Grogan moved toward the door and told them to stop. The noise subsided. He went back to Rafer and said, “Tell me something. What's the matter with you?”
      Rafer swallowed hard. “I thought—”
      “You thought,” Grogan said. “With what? Your ass?”
      “I figured—”
      “No you didn't,” Grogan said. “You can't even add one and one.” He gestured toward the masked corpse. “Even the dumbest punk would know I wanted him alive.”
      Rafer blinked several times. “He was makin' for the window. All I done was stop him.”
      “You stopped him, all right,” Grogan said. “You stopped him from talking, that's what you did.”
      Rafer sighed heavily. He stood there deflated, making a helpless gesture. Grogan turned away, bent over the sitting corpse and ripped off the werewolf mask. The poker players moved closer to get a look at the face.
      “Anyone know him?” Grogan asked. They said no. Grogan crossed over to the other corpse and removed the mask and again it was no.
      Grogan frowned, confused. He said aloud to himself, “I don't get this. Just don't get it, that's all.”
      “It's a cinch they ain't from this neighborhood,” someone said.
      “Then what's the answer?” another asked, puzzled. “There's gotta be an answer.”
      “I got it,” Rafer said loudly, hitting his fist against his palm. He paused significantly, his chest expanded again. They all looked at him, all except Grogan. The fist hit the palm again and Rafer said, “They were hired by someone who knows about—”
      But just then Grogan looked at Rafer. And Corey thought, That look—it's like pressing a button that shuts off the noise!
      Rafer stood there stiffly, blinking hard and swallowing air. Grogan went on looking at him. Some moments passed and then Grogan turned away and moved toward the table, sat down and muttered aloud to himself, “I swear I don't know how I manage. What I have to put up with. The people I have around me.”
      “I didn't say nothin',” Rafer tried to make repairs. “All I said was—”
      Grogan looked at him. Some of the men squirmed uneasily. Rafer had his mouth clamped tightly, his features twisted in a straining grimace as he made the effort to remain quiet.
      “You want me to really do it?” Grogan said very quietly to Rafer. “You want me to pull your tongue out with pliers?”
      Rafer opened his mouth. He started to say something; then forced it back, and his lips locked again.
      One of the men said to Grogan, “Whatever it is, you can tell us. After all, we're on the payroll.”
      “That's right,” another put in. “It ain't as if we're Outsiders.”
      And a third one said, “There's somethin' happenin', we'd like to know about it.”
      “You want me to tell you?” Grogan murmured.
      “Sure.”
      “Well, I'm not gonna tell you.”
      “But look, Walt— I mean, after all—”
      “I'm not gonna tell you,” Grogan said.
      “That closes it,” Rafer barked importantly. He came over and stood at Grogan's side. Again his chest expanded with authority as he scowled at the five men grouped near the table. One of them started to say something and Rafer said, “Cut it, and