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“and I’m even-tempered. But don’t put your hands on me again.”
    He had a low-ball glass in his right hand that appeared to contain bourbon. He took a bracing pull on it.
    â€œI ought to knock you on your keister.”
    â€œSure,” I said, “but you can’t and you’re just going to look like a goddamned fool. Why don’t I apologize and you accept and we’ll go our separate ways?”
    â€œYou think I can’t?”
    Neither Penny nor SueSue made any move to intervene. There was something a little unpleasant flickering in SueSue’s eyes as she watched.
    â€œPud, I’ve been doing this for a living since before you started pickling your liver. It’s not a good match for you.”
    He stared at me. Some part of him got it. Some part of him knew he’d gotten in where he didn’t belong. But he was too drunk to back down. He looked at SueSue. The unpleasant glint was still in her eyes. She smiled an unpleasant smile.
    â€œDon’t you let him push you around, Pud Potter,” she said.
    He frowned as if he were trying to concentrate, and put his drink on a table next to him. It came the way Iknew it would, a long slow looping right punch that I could have slipped while writing my memoirs. I blocked it on my left forearm. He threw a left of the same directness and velocity. I slipped the left, put my hand behind his shoulder, and used the slow force of the punch to continue him around. When he was turned, I put my foot against his butt and shoved. He stumbled forward and fell on the lawn, and got up with deep grass stains on the knees of his white slacks.
    Walter Clive detached himself from the group he was entertaining and walked over. Dolly came with him.
    â€œWhat seems to be the problem?” he said.
    â€œPud is drunk,” Penny said.
    Clive nodded. “And being Pud,” he said.
    â€œYes.”
    Pud was standing, looking a little disoriented, ready to charge.
    â€œSueSue,” Clive said. “Take Pud home.”
    He turned to me.
    â€œI apologize for my son-in-law. He’s a little too fond sometimes of that sippin’ whiskey.”
    â€œNo harm,” I said.
    Clive never looked to see if Pud was leaving. Which he was, led by SueSue away from the bright circle of Japanese lanterns. Dolly smiled at me warmly. The smile made me think of perfumed silk. I was pretty sure I knew what she did to make Clive happy.
    â€œPenny,” Clive said, “introduce Mr. Spenser to our trainer.”
    â€œSure thing, boss,” Penny said, and put her arm through mine again and led me toward another part ofthe terrace. Clive went back to his guests with Dolly beside him.
    â€œYou handled him like he was a little boy,” Penny said. She hugged my arm against her.
    â€œIt’s what I do,” I said. “As in most things, there’s a pretty big difference between amateurs and professionals.”
    â€œI’ll say.”
    â€œSorry that had to happen,” I said.
    â€œOh, not me,” Penny said. “I’m thrilled. I think Pud needs to be kicked in the ass every evening.”
    â€œIn your experience, am I going to have to do it again?”
    â€œI don’t know. He may not even remember it in the morning.”
    â€œPerhaps SueSue will remind him.”
    â€œYou don’t miss much,” she said. “Do you?”
    â€œJust doing my job, ma’am,” I said.
    â€œMost of the people Pud picks on are afraid of him.”
    â€œGiven his fistic skills,” I said, “he would be wise to ascertain that in advance.”
    She smiled and gave my arm an extra squeeze and guided me through the cocktail crowd.

FIVE

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    I T WAS TEN minutes to six in the morning. I was at the rail with Hale Martin, the Three Fillies trainer, at the east end of the Three Fillies training track with the sun on my back, drinking a cup of coffee from the pot in the trainer’s room. A big