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ser than by others who'd laid down their homeless heads without his permission。
〃Isn't that right？〃 he said again。 〃Irish？ Tell him！ Isn't that right？〃
The man he'd addressed muttered something incoherent。 The woman beside him； with a bead of hair bleached to near extinction but black at the roots； came within striking distance of Tolland…something only a very few dared to do。
〃That's right； Tolly；〃 she said。 〃That's right。〃 She looked at the victim without pity。 〃D'you think he's a Jew…boy？ He's got a Jew…boy's nose。〃
Tolland took down a throatful of wine。 〃Are you a fuckin' yid？〃 he said。
Someone in the crowd said they should strip him and see。 The woman； who went by a number of names but whom Tolland called Carol when he fucked her； made to do just that； but he aimed a blow at her and she retreated。
〃You get your fuckin' hands off him；〃 Tolland said。 〃He'll tell us； won't you； matey？ You'll tell us。 Are you a fuckin' yid or not？〃
He took hold of the man by the lapel of his jacket。
〃I'm waitin'；〃 he said。
The victim dug for a word； and found： 〃。。。 Gentle 。。。〃
〃Gentile？〃 Tolland said。 〃Yeah？ You a Gentile？ Well； I don't give a fuck what you are！ I don't want you here。〃
The other nodded and tried to detach Tolland's fingers； but his captor hadn't finished。 He slammed the man against the wall； so hard the breath went out of him。
〃Irish？ Take the fuckin' bottle。〃
The Irishman claimed the bottle from Tolland's hands and stepped back to let him do his worst。
〃Don't kill him；〃 the woman said；
〃What the fuck do you care？〃 Tolland spat and delivered two； three； four punches to the Gentile's solar plexus； followed by a knee jab to his groin。 Pinned against the wall by his neck； the man could do little to defend himself； but even that little he failed to do； accepting the punishment even though tears of pain ran from his eyes。 He stared through them with a look of bewilderment on his face； small exclamations of pain ing with every blow。
〃He's a head case； Tolly；〃 the Irishman said。 〃Look at him！ He's a friggin' head case。〃
Tolland didn't glance the Irishman's way； or slow his beating； but delivered a new fusillade of punches。 The Gentile's body now hung limply from the pinion of his hand； the face above it blanker by the blow。
〃You hear me； Tolly？〃 the Irishman said。 〃He's a nutter。 He's not feeling it。〃
〃You keep the fuck out of this。〃
〃Why don't you leave him alone？〃
〃He's on my fuckin' patch；〃 Tolland said。
He dragged the Gentile away from the wall and swung him around。 The small crowd backed off to give their leader room to play。 With Irish silenced； there were no objections raised from any quarter。 Tolland was left to beat the Gentile to the ground。 Then he followed through with a barrage of kicks。 His victim put his hands around his head and curled up to protect himself as best he could； whimpering。 But Tolland wasn't about to let the man's face go unbroken。 He reached down and dragged the hands away； raising his boot to bring it down。 Before he could do so； however； Tolland's bottle hit the floor； spattering wine as it smashed。 He turned on Irish。
〃What the fuck d'you that for？〃
〃You shouldn't beat up head cases；〃 the man replied； by his tone already regretting the breakage。
〃You goin' to stop me？〃
〃All I'm sayin'…〃
〃Are you goin' to try and fuckin' stop me？〃
〃He's not right in the head； Tolly。〃
〃So I'll kick some sense into him；〃 Tolland replied。
He dropped his victim's arms； turning all his crazed attention on the dissenter。
〃Or do you want to do it？〃 he said。
Irish shook his head。
〃Go on；〃 said Tolland。 〃You do it for me。〃 He stepped over the Gentile in the Irishman's direction。 〃Go on。。。〃 he said again。 〃Go on。。。。〃
Irish began to retreat； Tolland bearing down on him。 The Gentile had meanwhile turned himself over and was starting to crawl away； blood running from his nose and from the wounds reopened on his brow。 Nobody moved to help him。 When ToUand was roused； as now； his fury knew no bounds。 Anyone who stepped in his way…whether man； woman； or child…was forfeit。 He broke bones and heads without a second thought； had ground a broken bottle into a man's eye once； not twenty yards from this spot； for the crime of looking at him too long。 There wasn't a cardboard city north or south of the river where he wasn't known； and prayers said in the hope that he'd not e visiting。
Before he could grab hold of Irish the man threw up his hands in defeat。
〃All right； Tolly； all right；〃 he said。 〃It was my mistake。 I swear； I'm sorry。〃
〃You broke my fuckin bottle。〃
〃HI fetch you another。 I will。 I'll do it now。〃
Irish had known Tolland longer than anyone else in this circle and was familiar with the rules of placation： copious apology； witnessed by as many of Tolland's tribe as possible。 It wasn't foolproof； but today it worked。
〃Will I be fetchin' you a bottle now？〃 Irish said。
〃Get me two； you fuckin' scab。〃
〃That's what I am； Tolly。 I'm a scab。〃
〃And one for Carol；〃 Tolland said。
〃I'll do that〃
Tolland leveled a grimy finger at Irish。 〃And don't you ever try crossin' me again； or I'll have your fuckin' balls。〃
With this promise made； ToUand turned back to his victim。 Seeing that the Gentile had already crawled some distance from him； he let out an incoherent roar of fury； and those of the crowd who were standing within a yard or two of the path between him and his target retreated。 Tolland didn't hurry； but watched as the wounded Gentile laboriously got to his feet and began to make a staggering escape through the chaos of boxes and strewn bedding。
Up ahead； a youth of sixteen or so was kneeling on the ground； covering the concrete slabs underfoot with designs in colored chalk； blowing the pastel dust off his handiwork as he went。 Engrossed in his art he'd ignored the beating that had claimed the attention of the others； but now he heard Tolland's voice echoing through the underpass； calling his name。
〃Monday； you fuckhead！ Get hold of him！〃
The youth looked up。 His hair was cropped to a dark fuzz； his skin pockmarked； his ears sticking out like handles。 His gaze was clear； however； despite the track marks that disfigured his arms； and it took him only a second to realize his dilemma。 If he brought down the bleeding man； he'd condemn him。 If he didn't； he'd condemn himself。 To gain a little time he feigned bafflement； cupping his hand behind his ear as if he'd missed Tolland's instruction。
〃Stop him！〃 came the brute's mand。
Monday started to get to his feet； murmuring； 〃Get the fuck out of here；〃 to the escapee as he did so。
But the idiot had stumbled to a halt； his eyes fixed on the picture Monday had been making。 It was filched from a newspaper photo of a starlet； wide…eyed； posing with a koala in her arms。 Monday had rendered the woman with loving accuracy； but the koala had bee a patchwork beast； with a single burning eye in its brooding head。
〃Didn't you hear me？〃 Monday said。
The man ignored him。
〃It's your funeral；〃 he said； rising now as Tolland approached； pushing the man from the edge of his picture。 〃Go on；〃 he said； 〃or he'll bust it iip！ Get away！〃 He pushed hard； but the man remained fixated。 〃You're gettin' blood on it； dickhead！〃
Tolland yelled for Irish； and the man hurried to his side； eager to make good。
〃What； Tolly？〃
〃Collar that fuckin' kid。〃
Irish was obedient and headed straight for Monday； taking hold of the boy。 Tolland； meanwhile； had caught up with the Gentile； who hadn't moved from his place on the edge of the colored paving。
〃Don't let him bleed on it！〃 Monday begged。
Tolland threw the youth a glance； then stepped onto the picture； scraping his boots over the carefully worked face。 Monday raised a moan of protest as he watched the bright chalk colons reduced to a gray…brown dust。
〃Don't； man； don't；〃 he pleaded。
But his plaints only riled the vandal further。 Seeing Monday's tobacco tin of chalks within reach of his boot； Tolland went to scatter them； but Monday； dragging himself out of Irish's grip； flung himself down to preserve them。 Tolland's kick landed in the boy's flank； and he was sent sprawling； rolled in chalk dust。 Tolland's heel booted the tin and its contents； then he came after its protector a second time。 Monday curled up； anticipating the blow。 But it never landed。 The Gentile's voice came between Tolland and his intention。
〃Don't do that；〃 he said。
Nobody had custody of him； and he could have made another attempt to escape while Tolland went after Monday； but he was still at the edge of the picture； his gaze no longer on it but on its spoiler。
〃What the fuck did you say？〃 Tolland's mouth opened like a toothed wound in his matted beard。
〃I said： Don't 。。。do。。。 that；〃
Whatever pleasure Tolland had derived from this hunt was over now； and there wasn't one among the spectators who didn't know it。 The sport that would have ended with an ear bitten off or a few broken ribs had bee something else entirely； and several of the crowd； having no stomach for what they knew was ing； retired from their places at the ringside。 Even the hardiest of them backed away a few paces； their drugged； drunken； or simply addled