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he kegs were heavy and awkward； and when he was in a hurry he usually managed to roll them off the dolly and right onto his toes。
〃Shit！〃 he said loudly as this very thing happened。 As he jerked his foot away； the keg teetered and threatened to tip。 Kinsey grabbed at it。 If it went over； the beer inside would foam unmercifully。 Customers were lined up three deep at the bar； waiting to be served； and last call was just an hour away。 Silently he cursed the treacherous Rima； wishing he had busted her after all； if only for the cheap satisfaction it would give him right now。
Then suddenly someone was beside him； wrestling with the icy keg； pushing Kinsey toward the taps； the cooler； the impatient mass of drinkers。 〃Go wait on them…I'll hook it up。 I know how。〃 Skinny arms wrapped around the keg； heaving it into place； deft long…fingered hands were already tapping the valve。 Trevor Black。 Kinsey wondered if the kid really was twenty…five。 He still looked more like nineteen； and the Yew could get busted if an underage person was caught serving beer。 Kinsey shrugged and put it out of his mind。 Taking the risk was better than losing business。
Fifteen minutes or so into the rush； Kinsey could tell Trevor had done this kind of work before。 He was quick to figure out where everything was； he was able to duck and dodge around Kinsey without getting in his way。 Since he didn't know the prices； he just served drinks as fast as he could and left the register to Kinsey。 Dollar bills flew into Kinsey's hands。 The tip jar jangled with change。 At last the flood of customers flowed to a trickle； then stopped altogether： everyone was drunk and dancing； getting into Gumbo。
Kinsey went up front with a round of Natty Bohos for the band。 Terry flashed him a big smile and did a little flourish on the drums。 The club was hot and steamy； smelling of sweat and beer and clove smoke； the faces of the dancing kids were slick with light； lost in musical rapture。
When Kinsey made his way back through the crowd； Trevor was leaning against the cooler drinking another Coke。 His smile was tentative； barely a flicker。 〃Was that okay？ To just jump in like that？〃
〃Absolutely not。 You're fired。〃 They stared at each other for a moment； then Kinsey's mouth twitched； and all at once both were laughing。 〃Seriously； do you want a job？ You can keep all tonight's tips； and I'll start you at four…fifty an hour。〃
Trevor shrugged。 〃I have stuff to do in Missing Mile…I don't need a job right away。 And I'm not really a bartender。 I've just filled in for one a couple of times。〃
Kinsey raised an eyebrow。 〃You could've fooled me。 Well； you can fill in some here if you want。 Pick up a shift every week or so。〃
Trevor stared at the floor。 〃Maybe。 It depends。〃
Kinsey decided not to ask what it depended on。 He seemed to have wrecked the moment of camaraderie already。 Trevor was an odd bird； his conversation seeded with chill winds and ice pockets。 Kinsey searched for a neutral topic to dissipate the tension。 〃So； if you're not a bartender by profession； 〃what is it you do？〃
Trevor kept looking at the floor； scuffed the toe of a ratty black sneaker over the worn boards。 〃I draw ics。〃
Kinsey had thought the name was familiar。 〃Trevor Black 。 。 。 Didn't you have a page in Drawn and Quarterly？〃 This was an underground ics magazine featuring some of the newest； most bizarre talent around。
Trevor looked surprised； then a little disconcerted； but he nodded。 〃Yes。 That was me。〃
〃It was a good strip。 You know； it made me think of…〃
A second wave of beer drinkers descended upon the bar clamoring for Natty Bohos。 Trevor turned away to serve them so quickly that Kinsey wondered whether he was glad to get off the subject。 As Kinsey rang up their purchases； his mind lingered on the ic。 It had been an odd； brief tale； an epiphany of sorts； something about a flock of birds rising from a man's charred corpse like a feathered； jewel…eyed soul。 Kinsey had been about to say how much the ic's style had reminded him of the late Robert McGee； the sharp inking and clean； graceful lines。 He was sure Trevor had read Birdland。 Possibly he knew McGee had died here。 Kinsey might even tell him about the time he'd fixed the McGees' car； just before the tragedy。
But the band was winding down。 The rush went on until last call； and then it was closing time； money to count； spills to wipe up； hundreds of cups； cans； bottles to find and empty and sort for tomorrow's recycling pickup。 By the time they finished it was after three。
Kinsey popped a beer； then picked out a tape and stuck it in the little cassette player behind the bar。 Miles Davis； something from the fifties。 The sound of the trumpet filled the room； easy and slow； smooth as eggnog spiked with whiskey。 Trevor put his head down on the bar。 Kinsey leaned against the register and closed his eyes。
The music ended and an announcer's voice came on； part of the tape； which had been recorded live on Fifty…second Street in the golden bebop days。 The voice was deep； white； and juicy； and somehow seemed a distilled essence of its time； you could easily picture the guy in his sharp suit with its deep…cut lapels； hair slicked back； cool ofay cat。 〃Well！ Yeah！ Miiiiles Davis。 Remember； you still have plenty of time to get to Birdland…〃
Kinsey heard a strangled sob。 He opened his eyes and stared at Trevor； who was rolling his head back and forth on the bar； his hands clawing at the scarred wood。 His lips were pulled back over his teeth； and tears poured from his eyes。 Kinsey could actually see them forming salty little pools on the bar's varnished surface。 He moved toward the boy。 〃Hey； Trevor？ What…〃
〃I don't have plenty of time to get to Birdland！〃 Trevor cried。 His voice sounded as if it were being pulled out of him； dragged over hot coals and rusty nails； tortured out of his throat。 〃I don't have any time at all…and I'm scared…〃
〃Birdland？〃 Kinsey said softly。
Trevor caught the puzzled inflection。 He looked up at Kinsey； the pale flesh of his eyelids swollen； his clear eyes naked and wet and terrified。 And suddenly Kinsey knew that face： a five…year…old boy； in bad need of a haircut by some standards； too thin and hollow…eyed by any； standing on the side of a country road staring first at his mother； then at his father。
〃Trevor McGee；〃 said Kinsey。
〃Oh； goddamn 。 。 。〃 Miserably； Trevor nodded。 Then he was sobbing again。 Kinsey went around the bar； put a cautious hand on the boy's trembling shoulder； felt the muscles bunch up and flinch away from his palm。
〃Don't touch me！〃
〃Sorry。 I didn't mean…〃
〃No； I just can't…〃
They stared helplessly at each other。 Trevor's face was flushed； slick with tears。 Everything in the way he held himself…arms crossed over his chest； shoulders hunched … screamed Don't touch me as loudly as Trevor's mouth had done。 But his eyes were five years old again； and begged Hold me。 Hold me。 Help me。
Trevor might hate him； might even think Kinsey was hitting on him； but that was just too bad。 Kinsey could not ignore such pain。 〃I remember you；〃 he said。 〃I was the mechanic who fixed your parents' car。 I wanted to