'Possibly. Maybe not. But what could make Hell a heaven? Not to reign, but to love. What are hellfire and brimstone to the flames of passion?'
'You really mean it, don't you?'
'Of course. Physical pain? That means nothing. It can be ignored. But an eternity of regretting that I never loved, was never loved? That's unendurable torment.'
She looked at him for a long moment. 'Clare, I don't know what to say.'
He put down his glass, took hers, set it down, and took her in his strong arms. Their kiss was long and involved.
She broke it off and caught her breath. 'Clare, I don't think I can help you.'
'Don't feel obligated. Doesn't work like that.'
'Clare, I do. I do feel obligated somehow.'
'Marry me, Helen.'
'Marry you?'
'Yes. Be my wife. Be with me forever.'
'Clare, I won't go to Hell with you.'
'You couldn't. They wouldn't take you. Your beauty would be an affront to them. Not just your face ? your soul.'
'Clare, this is…'
'Say yes, darling.'
'Darling… seventeen minutes.'
'Forget about that. The J.P. is just down the road. He can be here in ten minutes. Besides, the dengs'll grant me a grace period.'
'Odd way to put it.'
'They will. They like gestures. They'll enjoy stoking a bridegroom into the coals, fresh-plucked from his bride's tender embraces.'
'God, Clare, that's awful.'
He kissed her again. This time their embrace lasted longer. Her body aligned with his and pressed against him, her right leg up over both his. He stroked her thigh lovingly, longingly.
'I'll marry you, Clare, if you think it'll help. God, it's the least I can do.'
'Don't do it for that reason.'
'What do my reasons matter?'
He gently pushed her off and got up.
'It's him, isn't it?'
'Who?' she asked.
'Carney. You still love him.'
She frowned. 'I wasn't even thinking of him.'
'I'm not blaming you, Helen. But it has to be full and free, without let or hindrance. No encumbrances.'
'I said I'll marry you, Clare. I meant it.'
'I believe you. But ?'
A resounding crash came from the far pan of the mansion. The floor shook momentarily. Shouts and exclamations outside.
'God, what was that?'
'Stay here,' he said, striding out of the room.
Once out the door, he ran down the wide hallway, and took the steps three at a time.
On the ground floor he followed his ears through the immense house until he found the source of the commotion in the ballroom.
A gray Leland sedan had crashed through the big French windows, taking a part of the wall with it. The crumpled hood was inside the room, as was the driver's door. John Carney was struggling out. There seemed to be a shimmering aura surrounding him. It was prismatic, colorful, but faint.
Tweel was astounded. 'John! Nice of you to drop by.'
'Happy New Year! Merry Martinmas! The blessings of Bran be on you.'
Tweel threw his head back and laughed.
Carney found the bottle under the front seat and upended it in his mouth. He drained it and looked forlornly upon its emptiness. 'To the lees. Finished. No more. Nevermore. The nectar of the dogs.'
'Of the dogs?'
'Tastes like dog urine. But smooth.' He threw the bottle to shatter against the wall. 'Frater ave atque vale. Give my regards to olive-silvery Sirmio.'
Tweel chuckled. 'John, you're polluted.'
'Aye, that I be. But do I wake or sleep? That is the question.'
'You look wide-awake to me. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?'
'I gotta take a piss. I mean my wisdom teeth are doing the backstroke. You got a facility?'
'Yeah. Indoors, too. Down the hall ?'
'Wait a minute. Help me with her, will you?'
'Who you got in there?'
'Boss!'
A man with a submachine gun poked his head through the hole in the wall.
'Boss, he crashed the gate! Like a maniac! He tore through the garden, ripped up the lawn ? we couldn't stop him. Our damn guns wouldn't fire for some reason!'
Tweel said, 'You think he'd come here with his hand inside his fly?'
'The damn car had sparks and stuff comin' off it! You want I should let him have it, boss?'
'Heel, boy. I'll handle this.'
'Okay, boss.'
Carney was struggling with the not-quite-conscious Velma, trying to lift her out of the car. Tweel helped. They got her upright, and Tweel stooped, letting her fall over his back, and picked her up in a fireman's carry.
Tweel patted a well-rounded buttock. 'Nice to see you, Velma.'
Carney said, 'You told me, _I wanchu to find Velma for me,' so I did.'
'You found her all right. Come on upstairs. Helen's here. We can have a party.'
'I always hew to the party line. Where're the dengs, by the way?'
'They're around somewhere. What's going on, John? Is this a social call, business, you selling insurance, what?'
'The time has come, old Walrus-breath, to speak of many things. Like, what the hell is going on with you and the dengs?'
'Oh, they're calling in my marker.'
'Yeah? I thought so. When?'
'Midnight. It was twenty-four years ago tonight.'
Carney looked at his watch. 'Stopped. What's the time?'
'Not too frigging much. Come on, we have time for one drink.'
Tweel walked, Carney weaved, out of the ballroom.
In the hall they ran into Fioretto Roberto 'Bobby' Speranza, spat-shoed and dapper as ever. His ski-jump nose was a little red, but he was essentially sober.
'Your Honor!' Carney said.
'I wanna tell ya, these dengs are murder,' Bobby said. 'You go to one of their parties, and you're so happy to get home you're glad you went. Ba-boom. Rimshot. But seriously, folks.'
Carney said thickly, 'Hell of way to treat a mayor of a great metrotopil… metropopol… a big town.'
'Oh, you're pumpin' ethyl tonight, boy,' Mayor Speranza said. 'Did you drive here or wash in with the tide? You're sloshed.'
'And I intend… excuse me… to get a lot sloshter.'
'Whew, that breath is dynamite! I'd buy you a drink, but it's a clip joint and you'd only disappear at closing time.'
