Ryan rubbed his eyes tiredly and tried to think coherent thoughts. He had been up with Mick and Nuala since seven, after a late night at the Corner, and his brain was staying stubbornly in low gear.

Yes! That was right up the boy's street, an that idiotic blue dog would occupy him for hours. If he could get Nuala similarly immersed, he might possibly catch forty winks.

Ryan cringed at the sound of the butchered sentence. It had become an involuntary response, and he sympathized greatly with Professor Pavlov's slobbering canines. Whenever Jade heard such monstrosities exit the mouths of the children, she went to great pains to correct them. Ryan had reached a point when he knew what was coming.

Elmore padded through from the kitchen, a bottle of milk in his hand and Rainer on his hip. He'd got so he looked unnatural without a towel over his shoulder. He parked himself on the couch and aimed the bottle at Rainer.

Ryan leaned towards his daughter, all tenderness and solicitation.

Nuala's voice was scornful. She stepped away from her father's comforting arms and leveled a finger at Mick.

Mick charged Nuala, and the children went down yelling, Nuala grabbed a handful of hair and started to yank while Mick, howling, got a mouthful of her arm and commenced gnawing. Hewey and Gus established a perimeter by dancing around the edges of the battle. Gus barked encouragement while Hewey whined nervously. The pups were going to hurt themselves.

Ryan stared, too surprised by the ferocity to respond immediately. They were wearing their Fighting Armadillos t-shirts and they looked very like the animal itself, rounded shapes rolling about on the carpet, weapons consisting chiefly of flailing hands, kicking feet, and snapping teeth.

Elmore's voice, raised in Ryan's lines, got his attention. Ryan waded in to the battle and separated the combatants. Both were breathing hard, bawling lustily and mad as hell, but short of Nuala's braids being disarranged and Mick's shoe being on the other side of the room, there was no damage done. Gus brought the shoe and dropped it by Ryan's foot.

Elmore clamped his mouth shut and gave his attention to the baby. It was that or start laughing like a fucking hyena. Anybody hearing Ryan speak a would have thought only that he was an exemplary father and a staunch foe of the NRA. Elmore knew better, far better. Ryan wouldn't have known the NRA from a bag of frogs. He had no time for guns because he knew of things that could do a lot more damage.

Mick wiped a thick wad of snot from beneath his nose. Automatically, Ryan bent to scrub the child's arm. He folded the cotton bandanna and thrust it beneath each small nose in turn, commanding the owner of the nose to blow. This done, he replaced the bandanna in his picket, planted his hands on his narrow hips, and regarded his son and daughter balefully.

Elmore rolled his eyes at Rainer, who was nearly asleep. How many times had he heard Ryan rhapsodize over his devices, praise the usefulness of the green crystals, he couldn't say. But it looked like he was going to hear it again.

The children scrambled out of the room, followed by the dogs. Ryan headed for a secluded corner of the cellar. Elmore followed, curious, but as soon as he saw what Ryan had dug out, he shook his head.

Ryan handled the jar of green crystals carefully, reverently. He set it down on the floor, then turned to replace another jar that he'd pulled out. Elmore noted that the crystals in the jar Ryan had set aside were small, somewhat uniformly the size of peanuts. A few larger ones, like bits of gravel, were mixed in. Mostly these crystals were the leavings of the manufacturing process. They mostly made an impressive bang. One night in Texas, Elmore and Bill had taken a jar of crystals out into the desert and spent a few hours blowing up scorpions and scaring snakes. The jar Ryan was putting away had the serious stuff in it. He could see crystals the size of orange wedges, and even larger. Those things would take out cars, buildings, people.

Elmore put Rainer down for a nap and joined the happy family on the deck. Ryan was preaching caution as he reverently plucked a crystal from the jar. He gave it a gently underhanded toss, in the general direction of the peacocks. There was a boom, a shower of dirt and grass and feathers, and the peacocks were streaking for the barn, leaving behind a neat three-foot crater in the yard.

The three children were enchanted. Ryan demonstrated technique several time, like a good coach, carving out a trench in the lawn and blowing out one of Deb's lilac bushes. There would be hell to pay for that.

After a while Elmore had a thought, and while the 1812 Overture continued in the backyard, he went upstairs and dug around in his room for a while. He returned to the deck with his scanner, a dusty old Cobra he hadn't used in years. Either he'd been drunker than he thought or those bangs were a hell of a lot louder than he remembered, but in either case he didn't think it would be a bad idea to keep an ear open for the cops.

Finally, Ryan judged his proteges ready. The honor of the first toss went to Nuala.

Seconds later, Ryan was picking himself up out of the grass. Nuala had hurled her crystal overhand, and had been about to let go anyway when she turned toward her father. Ryan assured her the pothole in the gravel drive would be easily concealed.

Mick was going to toss his underhand, as his father had demonstrated. Everybody hit the deck as the crystal went straight up into the air. It must have been bad because there was no explosion when it hit the ground at Mick's feet. Ryan, shaking, headed for the pantry.

He emerged with the Bushmills, and set about dispensing whisky to himself and green crystals to his children.

Elmore watched the trench become a thing of vast proportions, due to long tosses, short lobs, and the occasional contribution from the old man. Elmore was becoming vaguely concerned about the state of the grass. Ryan was singing "Kevin Barry" and could have given a tin shit. Elmore got out the phone book, made some calls... and about the time Ryan was too wall-eyed to supervise anymore and the twins were glassy-eyed with the need for sleep, the crew arrived to dig the swimming pool. Someone would pay a premium for this, but it was the only thing Elmore had been able to come up with on short notice.

She would kill him if she ever found out, and the kids knew it. They nodded solemnly.

The children woke from their naps around dinner-time and were raring to go. They went outside and watched the swimming pool crew knock off. Elmore was with them, grilling hotdogs for their dinner. He'd made a run to the local ThievesSuperMart in Farmington for bags of chips and a gallon of ice cream.

Elmore crouched gracefully and pulled them over, one hand on Mick and one hand on Nuala.

Elmore put up a hand to forestall any questions.

Mick appeared to be experiencing a mighty internal struggle.

Elmore waited, gave a nod of encouragement.

Elmore smiled, the Sunny Jim grin washed over the two youngsters.

Elmore knew Uncle Bully would take them up the St. Croix. Elmore had already cleared it with Uncle Bully. It was everybody's night off, Elmore's answer to burn-out. Phil would manage, two off-duty Minneapolis cops would provide security, and the bartender's biggest challenge on this typically slow week-night would be to keep up with Travis Lehman.

After eating, an option which Ryan shied away from, Elmore loaded the children into Ryan's Expedition, along with their gear. It had taken him nearly an hour to gather towels and sunscreen and beach sandals and stretchy little loud green bathing suits and baggy swim trunks and diapers and formula and wipes and his own cutoffs... damn, it was a major operation. He thought back to his own childhood in Alabama. Somebody'd say 'hey, let's go swimmin' and they'd pile onto a couple of rusty bikes and head out to a bend in the river where the current passed them by. They'd peel everything off and in they'd go, naked as the day they were born. Once one of the guys'd had his pecker bit by a fish and they'd never called him anything but Fishbait, or just Bait, after that.

Elmore had had no idea he was laughing.

Elmore considered, and rejected, a full retelling of How Bait Got His Nickname. He opted for the abridged version.

Mick came barreling up the stairs, the joyous bearer of bad tidings.

Mick repeated his story, working himself into a lather in the process. Nuala followed when Mick turned and bee-lined back to the scene of the accident. Elmore put Rainer into his carry-chair, slung the beach-bag over his shoulder, and brought up the rear.

The children stood at the lip of the hole that would become the new pool. The installation was a long way from complete, but there'd been such a fine start made on the excavation that the crew had been able to finish that portion of the job. Elmore would go apply for a building permit the following day, taking care of legal aspects, but the first order of business had been to get the thing dug. When Elmore stood at the edge of the hole, looking down into his solution, he found Ryan had slithered into the deep end. Gaerity was still extremely drunk, but had insisted on going along for the boat ride. Mick told Elmore that Da had wanted to go see the damage done to the grass, to figure out how to repair it, but he'd walked straight into the hole instead.

Elmore turned at the sound of a vehicle. Sam was back. Gerard crossed the yard to stand beside Elmore.

Elmore looked hard at the twins, but the little faces beamed innocence. Good goin'.

Elmore shot a warning glance at Mick and Nuala. Let me do the talking.

The twins clamored their approval, but Sam stared them quiet again. Gaerity had to be fished out of the hole before anybody could leave.

Sam picked up a clod of dirt and dropped it on Ryan's ass.

Sam turned to the child even as he crouched to pick up more dirt.

Sam watched as the little ones headed for the house.

Sam jumped into the hole and grabbed Ryan by the seat of his jeans. There was a terrible, blistering burst of Irish and Gaerity came up swinging. Sam popped Ryan lightly in the jaw, the brown eyes rolled back, and Ryan Gaerity was limp as a sack of potatoes. Sam manhandled him up as far as the shallow end and slung his carcass up onto the grass. Elmore stuffed him busily into the cargo area of the Expedition. When the twins returned, everybody was ready to go.

Bully rigorously observed the 'no wake' signs along the St. Croix--there was a fear that too much tear-assing along the waterway would erode the already fragile banks of the river further. Elmore dove cleanly into the St. Croix from the deck of the houseboat, and swam alongside. An excellent swimmer, Elmore reminded Sam of a water animal, an otter, perhaps, with his graceful and sinuous movements and the cap of dark hair slicked back against his skull.

Bully's houseboat, Rona II, was moored more or less permanently at King's Cover Marina in Hastings. He had lived on the boat since the ice went out in the spring, and he would stay on the water as long as he could. When asked where he intended to live come winter, he had a grin and a shrug. For all anyone knew, he would head back south. For the moment, he served as 'Assistant Manager' of the Corner, and he did a damned good job.

Ryan was lying on his back across a lawn chair planted for him on the deck. Nuala and Mick were following Bully around somewhere inside and Rainer was sitting in the shade of Sam's own body, waving his hands at bugs and looking around with large, bright brown eyes.

Mick charged onto the deck. He had a bandanna around his head, covering one eye and what looked like a curtain ring hanging over the top of his ear. A length of bright red cloth, maybe a towel, had been knotted around his waist, and he was waving a wooden dowel in such a manner that Sam wanted to draw up his knees. Nuala had been similarly tricked out, and Bully followed them out, stopping in the doorway. He leaned against the jamb and grinned at his creations.

Elmore stopped swimming and surface diving, preferring to stroke along just enough to stay with the boat.

This appeared to be Mick's show. He started waiving the dowel again, until it seemed like an idea to beat on the bare soles of his father's feet. It was a sign of Ryan's deep disinterest in life that he never flinched.

A quiet prompt from the wings.

Mick hesitated and the beating slowed down while he thought of the worst possible thing he could. Suddenly his little face lit up and he crowed.

Ryan lurched to his feet, going from zero to howling in less than a second. He looked a little bit like Frankenstein's monster as he tried to move and balance and not fall and flatten the children.

Bully was doubled over. Nuala had dared back to his side and, from the safety of that place, was giggling. Mick was dancing around Ryan's legs, trying to anticipate where his dad was headed so he could arrange not to be ;there, when the inevitable happened. Mick went left and Ryan went right, which meant they were trying to stand in the same spot. Mick jumped further to the left and managed to stick his dowel between his own ankles. He tripped and fell forward into Ryan's knees. Ryan started to topple and gave himself a half-twist, trying to land back in his lawn chair. Mick clipped him again and Ryan finally lost his footing completely. He went sailing into the river, spewing Irish all the way.

Ryan surfaced, red faced and yelling, too mad even to swim. Mick had crawled into Sam's lap to regard the chaos he'd created. Mick was only five, but he was no fool. A little fun was one thing, but the vile Irish echoing off the bluffs meant he'd gone a step too far.

Elmore swam over to Ryan, to grab hold before the damn fool could drown himself. He splashed water in Ryan's face, but Ryan was doing so much splashing on his own he probably scarcely felt it hitting him. Elmore smacked Ryan upside the back of the head.

This was an understatement. People fighting at the Corner, be they named Smith or Jones or Schwartz and Januszewski, were all 'feckin Englishmen.' The 'official fast food restaurant of the Gaerity family' was Arby's. It wasn't particularly Irish, but it damn well wasn't called after 'feckin' Orangemen,' either, and even a baby at the breast knew 'Orangeman' was just another word for 'Englishman.' When the Expedition acted up, 'a goddamned Englishman' built the car. He couldn't even bring himself to speak the corporate names of Deb's automotive passions, the Plymouth Prowler, the Dodge Viper, and the only thing that had been able to make her surrender her behemoth, the Chrysler PT Cruiser. 'They sound like damned Englishmen.' The vehicles were the Viper, the Prowler, the Cruiser, or, to borrow Bill's name for it, the bloated Twinkie.

The dunking appeared to have done wonders for Ryan's sobriety. He swung at Elmore.

Elmore roared his appreciation into Ryan's face, then reached across and dunked him. Elmore disappeared beneath the surface of the water, dragged by a powerful yank on his legs. They breached in a tangle, grappling and dunking, and yelling and somewhere in the midst of it all Ryan's headache cleared up and he started to enjoy himself.

Nuala had gasped and leaped to the rail. It looked like her Da and her beloved Uncle Elmore were trying to drown each other. She began to cry, fearful for them both. Mick loosed great braying sobs of guilt, thinking that the father and uncle he worshiped were coming to blows over an accident he had caused. Rainer added to the noise because he could.

Bully knelt beside Nuala and Sam tipped Mick's head back. Each spoke to his particular charge.

Bully took a callused thumb and gently wiped away the child's frightened tears.

Sam was five years older than Ryan.

Neither knew that the last man Ryan could, with confidence, say he had killed had been a cop. It was probably just as well.

Elmore and Ryan whanged on each other until they were tired, then they climbed back aboard the Rona II. Elmore flung himself to the deck while Ryan collapsed back in ;his lawn chair. Mick slipped off of Sam's lap and wen to stand beside his father.

Mick hung his head. A tear dripped down, darkening his dusty feet.

Mick stopped himself. He would get away with the f-word before the 'other' one.

Mick nodded miserably. Nuala was huddled somewhere between Bully and Elmore, sympathetic tears sliding down her cheeks. Rainer sat beside Sam, as he had been all along. His attention had been attracted by the iridescent wings of a dragonfly. He babbled mightily at the insect and grabbed with fat fingers for the flashing wings. That the fly could, by no stretch of the imagination, be called smart, but it wasn't suicidal, either. It danced just out of the baby's reach. After a while, the good-natured chatter became angry grunts, and he finally betrayed his paternity by flinging his pacifier at it. It landed in Ryan's lap.

Ryan absently tossed the pacifier back to Sam, who put it in Rainer's mouth upside down because it amused him to watch the baby manipulate it with only his tongue.

Ryan tipped Mick's chin up, then lightly tapped his nose.

Bully and Elmore were laughing into their hands. Ryan was hopeless, but hey were used to it. Ryan continued.

Bully turned to Elmore.

They got back to the house in the small hours, hoping the twins were exhausted enough to let everyone sleep in until... oh... eight or so. A light was on, but instead of the women waiting up, Bill met them at the door.

Bill reached to claim Rainer from Sam. The boy's pants were full, but he was sleeping and hadn't noticed yet. Funny how he felt such a pull toward this little shitting and eating machine. When Bill settled the boy on his shoulder, the dark eyes opened briefly, found him, and closed again. There was no need for a closer examination. The smell, the feel, the size and the position were all Daddy.

Ryan shrugged as he pushed past Bill and headed for the stairs.

Ryan considered his answer briefly and decided it was good enough, more than good enough, actually. They didn't need to know much more than he did, himself, and that wasn't much. All they'd told him was that they were headed to Utah. Beyond that, he had no clue. William didn't need to know that they were off chasing down his memories for him.

Bill turned on Sam angrily.

Sam's back stiffened. He'd been having a pretty decent time, up until now.

Bill said nothing, but the muscles in his jaw worked convulsively.

Sam leaned against the wall, ends of his mouth tipped sardonically upward.

Bill was tired, and emotionally drained. For most of a year he had been tightly strung on a thin wire, far more time than ever before in all his years in the field. HE had gone to Ohio and no further before running out of steam. Ryback wasn't going anywhere. And now he had to deal with this smug bastard.

Sam had moved into the dining room, but came back slowly. His expression was pure malevolence.

Ryan set Mick on his feet, shaking the boy awake.

Elmore nudged Mick towards safety as he reached for Rainer.

Bill never took his eyes from Sam, never resisted Elmore as he eased Rainer out of his arms. He was too involved, too angry. This had been a long time coming. Elmore hustled the children out of the room while Ryan stepped back, watchful, ready to render aid only if necessary.

Sam was too tired himself and not a little bit confused. He didn't have the energy to fight what his bones told him to be true--this annoying bit of the sweat off a leprous pig's ass was his brother.

They were slowly approaching and beginning to circle each other. Wrestlers, looking for holds... or boxers, Elmore thought as he returned to wait and watch with Ryan.

Bill flexed his fingers, went in to a slight crouch.

He stopped, swallowed heavily, continued.

Sam's voice dropped, became eerily controlled.

Bill and Sam turned to speak in unison.

That done, they returned to the absorbing task of figuring out how to kill each other.

Bill grinned maliciously.

Sam moved closer. He was becoming unhealthily white beneath the olive tones of his skin.

Ryan wondered where he'd heard that terse command before, and then he remembered--Bill.

Sam's voice was hoarse.

Sam was sweating, shaking.

Ryan might have been confused by the way the conversation was jumping back and forth, but he had known Bill for years--it was a big planet for a relatively small community of terrorists to hide on. He looked at Elmore, who appeared to be monitoring the exchange intently, having no difficulty following the twists and turns of the argument. He'd known Bill, he'd loved Beth, he knew what was happening.

Sam's face was blotchy, his rage appeared complete.

Ryan's powers of observation were rarely less than acute, and they were exquisitely so at this time. He nudged Elmore and nodded briefly, then he and the younger man began stepping into the space occupied by Bill and Sam and their fury. Bill whirled on Ryan when the Irishman finally had to literally bump into him.

Ryan's face was granite--the irresistible force meets the immovable object and all the rest of that happy shit. Bill apparently saw the wisdom of this, because he turned and stalked outside. Ryan noticed he was slightly favoring one leg. It might be key in the coming brawl.

Elmore moved toward Sam. His tone was mild but his intent was equally firm. Gerard didn't need to be told. He followed Bill into the yard.

Bill brought his fist down on a switch beside the deck railing and the yardlight flashed on. He turned to face Sam.

Bill leaned back, folded his arms.

Sam tensed up, visibly. The words Deb's youngest had said had been with him since he'd heard them. He'd found some things out on his own that had made him wonder, but speculation wasn't the same as clear knowledge. He couldn't hold himself responsible past a certain point, not and live with the thought. The ting to do here was to try and change the subject, better yet to put Strannix on the defensive.

There would be no derailing this train. Sam knew his responses were weak, and it infuriated him. Strannix continued, implacably.

Sam advanced, blindly angry. This had nothing to do with grief or regrets--those were emotions to be indulged, if at all, behind a closed door. This was about closing that vicious, stupid moth and silencing the voice that was cutting his self-image to pieces. Normally any number of people could line up, take a number and call Sam Gerard fifty different kinds of fuck-up. He would listen calmly, then go out and prove them all wrong. But this was different--this was his brother, one of only three people in the world whose approval he'd always consciously tried to win. Now his father was dead and his mother's pride in him unshakable. That left Eliot, his best friend and staunchest ally, who had turned into Strannix, this irritating and abrasive asshole who was still his blood and who, regardless, Sam wanted the approval of. If Bill wasn't going to understand, he could shut his face. If he needed help shutting his face, Sam would render whatever assistance was necessary.

Bill stepped out of Sam's path. He was apparently going to make this hard.

Bill yelled laughter.

Sam went in low and caught Bill around the knees. Bill fell backwards with Sam on top of him, fist like a pile-driver hammering on Bill's one verifiable weak spot. Bill ignored the pain, pummeled Sam's head and shoulders until he was able to break loose and roll aside.

They fought silently across the yard, toppled into the hole out of sight. Ryan and Elmore took up places at the edge. A fight was one thing, but nobody was going to be damaged. With that uppermost in mind, Ryan turned to Elmore after a few minutes observation.

Finally Sam was unable to continue. He sprawled in the damp soil, panting deeply and harshly. The yardlight illuminated him brutally, showing the dirt and sweat and blood in stark relief. Bill crouched across from him, similar in condition.

Sam sat up and looked across at Bill.

Bill pushed dirty fingers into his sweaty hair and churned it up some more.

Sam watched him closely for a while and Bill returned the stare. Ryan could feel something passing between them. Beside him, Elmore waited patiently. It took some time for Sam to answer.

Careful to stay away from one another, they boosted themselves out of the hole. Sam brushed past Ryan and went inside, but Bill stayed with them.

Neither Ryan nor Elmore was fooled by Bill's outburst, but they let it go. After a minute or two, Bill and Elmore were knocking each other around the yard, and finally, close to sunup, they went in to actually sleep.