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"
Jack
?
"
No
returning
sound
this
time
,
but
her
eyes
fell
on
something
beneath
the
batwing
doors
of
the
Colorado
Lounge
,
something
that
gleamed
faintly
in
the
subdued
light
.
Jack
’
s
cigarette
lighter
.
Plucking
up
her
courage
,
she
crossed
to
the
batwings
and
pushed
them
open
.
The
smell
of
gin
was
so
strong
that
her
breath
snagged
in
her
throat
.
It
wasn
’
t
even
right
to
call
it
a
smell
;
it
was
a
positive
reek
.
But
the
shelves
were
empty
.
Where
in
God
’
s
name
had
he
found
it
?
A
bottle
hidden
at
the
back
of
one
of
the
cupboards
?
Where
?
There
was
another
groan
,
low
and
fuzzy
,
but
perfectly
audible
this
time
.
Wendy
walked
slowly
to
the
bar
.
"
Jack
?
"
No
answer
.
She
looked
over
the
bar
and
there
he
was
,
sprawled
out
on
the
floor
in
a
stupor
.
Drunk
as
a
lord
,
by
the
smell
.
He
must
have
tried
to
go
right
over
the
top
and
lost
his
balance
.
A
wonder
he
hadn
’
t
broken
his
neck
.
An
old
proverb
recurred
to
her
:
God
looks
after
drunks
and
little
children
.
Amen
.
Yet
she
was
not
angry
with
him
;
looking
down
at
him
she
thought
be
looked
like
a
horribly
overtired
little
boy
who
bad
tried
to
do
too
much
and
had
fallen
asleep
in
the
middle
of
the
living
room
floor
.
He
had
stopped
drinking
and
it
was
not
Jack
who
had
made
the
decision
to
start
again
;
there
had
been
no
liquor
for
him
to
start
with
…
so
where
had
it
come
from
?
Resting
at
every
five
or
six
feet
along
the
horseshoe
-
shaped
bar
there
were
wine
bottles
wrapped
in
straw
,
their
mouths
plugged
with
candles
.
Supposed
to
look
bohemian
,
she
supposed
.
She
picked
one
up
and
shook
it
,
half
-
expecting
to
hear
the
slosh
of
gin
inside
it
(
new
wine
in
old
bottles
)
