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independently owned, at some point in time they decided to join forces when it came to names. As a result, we have the Nowhere Bar, the Somewhere Bar, and the Anywhere Bar. At times it leads to conversations that sound like an Abbott and Costello routine.
    Where should we go tonight?
    How about Nowhere?
    Aw, come on, we have to go to Somewhere.
    Well, we could go there, or to Anywhere, but I’d rather go to Nowhere.
    I tell William, “We’re going to the Nowhere Bar. We’re headed there now.”
    “You’re sure?” he asks. His voice has that breathless quality again and I can’t help but wince.
    “Yes, William, I’m sure.”
    “Okay. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
    “See you then.” I end the call and hand Izzy back his phone. “It’s a go,” I tell him. “But I’m having second thoughts about this. Do you think the Nowhere Bar serves any drinks with saltpeter in them?”

Chapter 8
     
    L est I have any doubts about William-not-Bill’s level of excitement, it is eliminated when I see that he has beaten us to the bar and is already seated when we arrive. It’s a little scary when you consider that the bar is across town from William’s house but only a block from our office. I fear I may have bitten off more than I can chew and pray that Hurley really does show up so my efforts aren’t for naught.
    The Nowhere is doing a hopping business despite the late hour. Bars are one of the more stable staples of the Wisconsin economy. Wisconsinites love their beer, their Packers, and their cheese. Thanks to the proliferation of televised games and cable TV, bars have the ability to provide all three, making them a home away from home for many.
    Because it’s Halloween, the crowd tonight is a little scarier than usual, reminiscent of the bar scene in Star Wars. William, who has shed his Dracula persona for now, is seated at a small table in a back corner. He stands up and eagerly waves us over as we enter. After shaking hands with Izzy and muttering a hello to Dom, William shifts all of his attention to me. He pulls out my chair, a gentlemanly gesture I appreciate, but then scoots his own seat closer and settles in with his leg touching mine. I can feel the excitement radiating off him, which only enhances my guilt and anxiety. As I start to squirm beneath the weight of William’s adoring gaze, I shoot Izzy a pleading look. And Izzy, bless him, sallies forth with the perfect solution.
    “Boy, they don’t do a very good job cleaning these tables, do they?” he says, rubbing at an imaginary stain.
    The reaction from William-not-Bill is instantaneous. His attention shifts from me to the tabletop and he starts flicking away at imaginary crumbs. The flicks are always done in sets of four and in a rectangular pattern. I grit my teeth and ball my hands into fists to suppress the urge I have to slap him out of it.
    Izzy flags down a waitress and we order: a gin-and-tonic for Izzy, a screwdriver for me, and a rum-and-Coke for Dom. William-not-Bill orders a bottled beer and asks the waitress to bring a glass on the side.
    “So,” William says, making another set of flicks as the waitress departs, “what did you guys have to do tonight? Is it anything you can talk about?”
    “Not really,” says Izzy. “But I can tell you it’s a murder investigation.”
    “Murder? Really? Was it someone local?”
    Izzy nods. “I’m sure you’ll hear something about it tomorrow.”
    “How awful,” William says with a shudder. “And on Halloween even. That’s kind of scary.”
    It is, and a moment of silence follows as we all contemplate that fact. Then I’m distracted by the feel of William-not-Bill’s leg rubbing against mine.
    “I’ll bet it’s messy work, isn’t it?” William says, breaking the silence and looking even more horrified than he did a moment ago.
    “Very,” I say. Then I look over at Izzy and add, “Even after scrubbing in the shower I don’t feel like I got all that blood off my