Less than twenty minutes later, Marve was shifting uncomfortably in the soft leather upholstery seat of Leo's luxury Towncar. A pair of ice cubes swirling in an empty glass snapped him from his glazed look as Leo held it for him to take.

  "So did you tell him?"

  Still hypnotized, Marve answered, "It's inevitable." Qualifying with, "Just didn't feel like the right time."

  "The man does have a right to know, Marvin. Don't you think it would be better coming from you?"

  "I told you I'll get to it!"

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  Marve fished through the mini-bar and helped himself to something strong.

  "Whatever you say."

  Leo leaned forward and ordered the driver to "Take the expressway."

  The driver's wall of formidable back muscles contracted behind a bluish wool turtleneck, and Marve felt the need to drink down quickly, then pour himself another.

  "Go easy on that stuff," Leo said. "I don't need another driver with a drinking problem."

  The car rolled out of the hospital red zone to merge into the steady stream of rush hour traffic.

  "So how is he?"

  Marve looked up. Already, he could feel the debilitating effects on his two-alarm headache. Pondering, he said, "Lot better than I expected," slurring ever-so-slightly. And it was true. He never expected to see the kid on crutches so soon, especially given how banged up he was the day they brought him in.

  "He's fixing to drive again," he remarked out the tinted window.

  "He said that?"

  "Not in so many words. But I could see it, plain as day in his doped-up, hopeful eyes. Damn kid don't know the meaning of the word quit."

  "Too bad." Leo said, leaning back with a swirling scotch suddenly in hand. "Don't get me wrong," he sipped, conteplative. "A little fire in the belly can be good for the soul. But too much'll get a man burned."