“Pleased to meetcha.” Wapinski nodded. The bar was less crowded than the poolroom, and the speakers were smaller but it was still tight and noisy. Against the far wall a group of students were passing a joint. Through the ceiling lights, the haze glowed. Wapinski was taken by the long straight hair of several of the girls, put off by the length of Tayborn’s.
“You met him before,” Akins shouted. Tayborn handed them each an overflowing red plastic cup of foamy beer.
“You’re the guy who’s a green beret, aren’t ya?” Tayborn asked.
Several people at the bar turned, caught by the words. One very drunk, very large boy, maybe a defensive tackle, put his arm around Wapinski and kissed him on the forehead and laughed good naturedly, almost elfish except for his size. “Welcome to my house,” the bi
