“Labeck,” he said, nodding cooly. Mazie had been first-aiding Hoolihan, Ben saw, and the thought of her touching him, tsk-tsking over the big chump’s boo-boo, made him furious. He hadn’t minded when the saps at the dating event had come on to her because they were such a sorry bunch of losers, but Johnny Goddamn Hoolihan was a different matter. What was this shit kicker doing here on Ben’s turf? With Ben’s girl? Why wasn’t he back in Zilchville chasing cows or rolling up the sidewalks? He’d met Hoolihan this past summer when he and Mazie had stayed on her family’s farm outside Quail Hollow. Hoolihan had picked Mazie up at a bar, gotten her drunk, and driven her back home. Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite how it had unfolded, but it was the narrative Ben told himself. Bottom line: he hated the guy. Ben gestured toward the shot-up bar, and he could feel his veins swelling. “You dragged Mazie into this?” he grated out. “Ben, butt out!” Mazie snapped. “You are not my bodyguard.
