NOTE: Most of you will find this way too boring and way too Catholic. Nothing exciting happens. I wrote it mostly for me, and figured someone else might like it or not. I love to play with Steve and see what he would do. If you have a thing against faith or eating meat, then maybe this one isn't for you.

Yes, I have more of Scruffy Girl coming. I'm kinda stumped, but I'll get the next chapter out soon as I can. Until then...


"G fifty-four… G five-four," Steve called.

He set the little plastic ball in the numbered rack and flicked the switch to light up the number fifty-four on the display board. His other hand already held the next ball the bingo machine sent up the tube. Steve waited a count of three, then announced the next number.

He smiled a small, measured smile at little Slayter Hutchins, who was running around and around in the aisle of the church hall, flying a plastic toy airplane with his arm stretched high. His rubber crocs slapped on the linoleum tile floor as he ran. Steve was surprised the older ladies were putting up with the kid making noise during the game. Some of these people were real serious about their Thursday night bingo.

"B eleven… B one-one," Steve called the next number.

An older man walked up to the table and slid a piece of paper in front of Steve. Steve picked it up and read it. Ah. Of course. Steve cleared his throat and made the announcement to the two hundred people who were waiting for him to call the next number.

"The Knights of Columbus would like to remind you that their annual barbecue fundraiser for the building maintenance fund is this Saturday from ten to two. You know they always do it up right, so folks, tell your friends, family and neighbors. Plates are just eight dollars, so everybody come out and support the parish this Saturday," Steve said.

Several people nodded. A lot more people looked at him impatiently.

"I twenty-two. I two-two," Steve said.

The airy rattle of the bingo machine droned on beside him. The thumps of felt stampers marked the number twenty-two all around the room, and Slayter's feet slap-slap-slapped on the floor. The boy's mom finally fussed at him quietly and pulled him into a plastic chair beside her. She had an infant to hold in her left arm, numbers to search for on her bingo papers, and Slayter squirmed in his chair. Steve admired the grace with which she managed everything.

"O sixty-seven. O six-seven," Steve called.

"Bingo!" an excited lady in the back said. A moment later, an older man near the front grumbled out his 'bingo' too.

"Hold your cards, hold your cards," Steve said.

Elaine Hidalgo, who was a floor walker tonight, went to the winners and called the numbers back to Steve.

"That's two good bingos. Split pot. Next game is the blackout, played on your red paper. A win in fifty-seven numbers or less gets two hundred dollars. Win on the fifty-eighth number or beyond and it's a hundred dollar pot. Good luck," Steve instructed.

Steve used his thumb to shove his comm back into his ear more snugly. He didn't know why it tended to slip loose when he called bingo every other Thursday, but the darn thing was wigglier now than during heavy action on a mission.

"This is so boring," Tony said in his ear for the fifth time.

"Then quit listening in. Go do something else," Steve responded to him under his breath while he fed the called balls back into the bingo machine to start the next game.

He flipped all the display board switches back to the 'off' position and waited until everyone in the room had their 'free space' in the middle of their cards stamped.

"I can't. Thor's got his tongue down Jane's throat and he's not watching the monitor. God, please hurry up and finish and come home," Tony complained in his ear.

"Hush, Tony. It's blackout," Steve murmured to him.

The church parishioners of Saint Gertrude's were accustomed to Steve having his comm piece in his ear, and they tolerated his split attention because most of them understood that with his job, he was on call all the time. Nobody looked at him strangely anymore when he appeared to be mumbling to himself at church functions.

"Our first blackout number is B fourteen. B one-four," Steve announced.

His mind wandered while he went through the familiar motions of calling the game numbers. It was a bother sometimes to the other Avengers when one of them tried to participate in anything approaching a normal life. Still, they all made the effort to help each other find what little normalcy they could. Clint and Buck had opened a shooting class in the tower basement for concealed carry holders and applicants. Natasha taught ballet to toddlers on Tuesdays, and Thor occasionally made appearances at local universities when they had a Norse mythology course. Once, Jane and Bruce tried to make a cross disciplinary presentation series for graduate students, but it hadn't gone as they'd hoped, and they'd given up on that. Mostly industry wonks with lots of questions had showed up in the auditorium instead of students, so they hadn't tried that again.

For Steve, being part of his church parish was relaxing. Not long after he'd awakened to the twenty-first century, he'd sought out a quiet little parish where attendance was dwindling to mostly old folks and a few young, devout families. At first, his presence in the pew on Sundays and sometimes during the week didn't cause much of a stir. Nobody knew who he was. Women looked at him sometimes for a little too long, but he was getting used to that, so he just smiled or tried to ignore it when it happened.

Then the Chitauri attack had happened, and then he'd been away to DC for a while, and Pierce had put his face all over the news trying to catch him as Shield was going down. He'd moved back to New York, and for a month or so, his fellow parishioners at Saint Gertrude's had been either awkwardly quiet around him, or overly chatty and familiar. Nobody knew what to make of having him among them. But the older men of the church parish, especially those who were veterans, took him right in and treated him like one of their own.

When the Knights of Columbus asked him to join, and the guys started calling him to help with barbecues and grounds maintenance, Steve started to feel at home. On a Sunday afternoon, it wasn't unusual to see Steve standing around having a beer with the older men who had lots of experience with the huge black iron barbecue pit, and a respectable belly to show for it. Some of them had gray hair, and some of them had no hair at all. Carl Ivarsson had strangely thick black hair despite his age. But they all had stories to tell, and they liked to listen to Steve tell his stories, too.

The bingo numbers went by slowly, and eventually little Slayter slipped into the free space of the aisle again to twirl around with his toy airplane. A lavender-haired lady gave the energetic child a mean glance because the noise of his crocs on the floor made it hard for her to hear the bingo numbers. Steve called the numbers a little louder.

If nothing came up, he'd be up all night Friday with the fellas to grill the meat for Saturday's fundraiser. He'd get to hear them complain about their jobs and their wives and whoever was playing against their favorite team. He would get ribbed about not finding a girl to settle down with yet, and they'd suggest a match with somebody's daughter, but they weren't as bad about it as Natasha was.

"Standby, Cap. We might have something…" Tony said in his ear.

"N forty. N four-zero," Steve announced.

His voice had gone slightly terse. Chip Weston, Scott Wells, and Terry Guthrie looked up from their bingo cards at him. A few of the women did too, but they were just curious why their men were looking. The men, especially the veterans, picked up on the times that Steve wasn't as relaxed as usual.

"Never mind. All clear," Tony said.

Steve grunted slightly to let Tony know he acknowledged the information, then he let out an even breath.

Some people noticed his moment of distraction. Most just waited for the next number to be called, ink daubers poised above their game papers. The little lady who had a problem with Slayter's playfulness squinted at Steve impatiently.

Steve called the next number. He shook his head slightly at his fellow Knights. The ones who were watching him relaxed.

They knew. Of course they knew. Father Ken Ramsey was a relatively young priest, fresh out of the Army, where he'd served as Chaplain. Steve liked having a young priest at his church. He was a man who could move quickly if he had to, a man who understood how to both give and follow orders. Father Ken had sensed his hesitance to become a more active part of the parish family, and they'd had a long talk about Steve's concerns.

Steve felt that he would be putting people in danger if he became a regular at church functions. Like Thursday night bingo, for example. Anyone with a grudge against the Avengers could easily know where to find Captain America out and apparently vulnerable, if they only did a little digging. But Father Ken pointed out to him that they had several law enforcement officers in the congregation too. These days, anyone could be a target, and nowhere was really safe. With terrorists on the news blowing things up unpredictably, people understood that. Some people had even expressed to him that they felt safer when Steve was around, and he didn't want to argue, so he thanked them.

Still, Steve felt the need to take extra precautions whenever he spent time here. Bucky usually tagged along, dressed down and kind of disguised. Somebody was always back at the tower keeping watch on the neighborhood around Saint Gertrude's. Jarvis monitored everything he could sense, which was a lot, since everybody had cell phones nowadays. And Steve kept his comm in so he could quickly get clear of civilians and minimize any damage if something dangerous developed.

"Blackout!" a teenage boy shouted.

A grumble of disappointment spread through the room.

Steve double-checked that the boy had a valid win, and Elaine brought him his cash. The kid was happy and grinning as he stuffed the money in his pocket.

"Thanks for coming out tonight. Our next bingo will be on the tenth of next month," Steve told everyone.

He turned off the microphone and the bingo machine. Elaine moved to the table with him to start putting away the equipment.

"How many people came tonight?" he asked her for the sake of making conversation. He'd already taken a quick head count, but nobody needed to know things like that. It was hard enough for folks to accept him as just one of the guys without them constantly being reminded that he could do things like tally a room full of people at a glance.

"I think the count was two-thirty-five. Steve, we appreciate you calling the games when you can. Attendance is way up, and the orphanage really appreciates the extra funding," Elaine told him with a smile while she unplugged the bingo machine and coiled the extension cords for storage.

"Eh, it's nothing. I'm glad I can help," Steve shrugged.

He went to help the men fold up and put away the plastic tables and chairs.

"Damn. That's loud. Do you have to slam things around so much?" Tony asked over the comm.

"I appreciate you keeping an eye out, Tony, but I could do without the running commentary. You know how to turn the mic feed down," Steve grumbled.

He really was thankful that his friends and co-workers helped to make this possible for him. But, part of what made it enjoyable for Steve was being away from the Avengers and the plush modern luxury of the tower. He liked the everyday people at Saint Gertrude's. It helped him to remember what it was he fought for when he put on the uniform. It helped him to remember how he'd grown up, despite all the years that had passed.

Now, just like then, it was usually young women who juggled little ones, while men did the heavy lifting and told stories that might or might not be true, older folks cooked and cleaned in the kitchen, and the kids ran around and laughed. Same as always, it was a small group of people who took on the responsibility of running everything. People were generally happy, despite all the troubling things happening in the world, and that was another thing Steve really needed to see. He saw a lot of mean and evil people when he put on the Captain's uniform. All day at the tower, he spent his time in briefings and strategy meetings thinking about how to protect folks like this from those mean and evil people.

A peaceful, calm evening among good people did more for his mental health than an hour every week with a therapist. Little Slayter ran up to him and slammed into his legs at full speed while his mother held the baby and fussed at Slayter to not bother Steve.

"Mister Steve-America, can you do something with my plane?" the boy asked.

Steve laughed. Kids, and even the grown-ups, didn't always know what to call him. He'd insisted that everyone just call him Steve, but people had trouble with that sometimes. Slayter's version of his name was one he hadn't heard before, and he could hear Tony laughing in his ear about it.

He squatted down so that Slayter wouldn't have to tug at his pants and tilt back so far that his head looked like it might fall off his shoulders.

"What does your plane need? The landing gear is stuck, huh? Let me see…" Steve took the cheap plastic toy from the kid. A tab inside the molded body was bent in the wrong position and Steve popped it right again with his fingernail. He wiggled the landing gear and Slayter jumped up and down and held his hand out.

Steve gave him his toy back.

"Yay! Steve-America saves the day. Everybody, we can go home!" Slayter yelled exuberantly to nobody in particular.

The hall was cleared of tables and chairs now, so the boy flew his plane high while running through the large empty space. He brought his arm lower and lower, then he did a perfect ballpark skid across the floor and landed his airplane.

"Everybody's safe. We fixed the landing gear!" Slayter cheered to himself.

Steve could hear him mumbling about emergency ladders and evacuating the passengers.

"I'm sorry if he's a bother. I couldn't get him to sit still during bingo," the mom came over and apologized.

"Of course not. His plane couldn't land. Had to keep flying," Steve pointed out.

He watched the kid with a wistfulness that was getting harder to ignore. Slayter said something about a fuel truck and made explosion noises. His newly fixed plane went flying through the air and hit the floor twenty feet away. Steve chuckled.

"Don't let him fool you. He knows how to fix the landing gear. He just wanted an excuse to talk to you," the young woman said.

"It's alright. Hey, I'm Steve," he said.

He held out his hand to her and looked down at the baby in the padded carrier.

"Hi, Steve. I think everybody knows who you are. I'm Krista. And this is Emily," she said.

Krista shook his hand, then held up the baby for him to see.

The carrier looked heavy for her, so Steve automatically took it, as he would help a lady with her bag. Then he realized that he'd just taken someone's kid. To play through the awkward moment, he lifted the carrier up to see the child. The baby girl, Emily, looked at him with wide, dark eyes. Her bottom lip was fat and slobbery and it started to tremble as she determined that Steve was certainly not her mama.

"Whoa. Here ya go," Steve handed the child back to her mother.

Krista laughed at him gently, and her laughing at his awkwardness make him feel like a person rather than a national icon. Little Emily was crying softly at the fright of being stared at by a strange man, but Krista calmed her.

"Slayter, get your airplane. It's late and we have to go home," Krista called to her son.

Another little boy had come over to play with him, and he ignored his mother.

"Slayter," Steve called.

The boy's head twisted around real quick. He popped up and ran over to them, looking hopefully at Steve. Krista grabbed his hand before he could get away again. With the baby carrier tucked in the bend of her arm, she turned to go. Slayter frowned at Steve, disappointed that his hero had betrayed him by calling him over so his mom could catch him.

"Thanks, Steve," Krista told him.

Steve pulled on his cheery smile and completely ignored the twinkle in her eyes. He'd found that if he acted like he was clueless about what that look meant, women didn't seem to get offended. They might think he was an oaf and a virgin, but that was for the best. One time, he'd made the mistake of defending his manhood to a woman who told him he was gay because he didn't act interested in her offer. He'd never do that again.

After he was done chatting with the guys who turned off the lights and locked up the church hall for the evening, Buck was waiting for him in the parking lot. People were still visiting between cars, and others were walking home in groups or to the bus stop on the corner.

"I hope you can make it Saturday," Bill Dunn called out to him in parting.

"Me too. You know how it is. I'll be here if I can," Steve answered.

Buck watched the chummy exchange only in passing. He felt that he was on duty, so he kept his gaze moving around the parking lot. Steve didn't want to see that look just yet. It was too much like work. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and ambled toward where Bucky leaned at the corner of the building.

Occasionally, somebody leaving in their car would wave at him and he would lift a hand to wave back. He liked seeing the families and the old folks happy and headed home. Nobody was standing around gawking at him or trying to get his autograph. Nobody was running away from danger screaming. There was no blood, no awkwardness, no cameras. Just good folks going home to get cozy. Like he was about to do.

The smile faded from his face as he approached Buck. Not that he wasn't happy to see his friend. He was. Every time he looked at him, he still could hardly believe that Bucky was back at his side again. He was a lot darker in spirit, and he got too still sometimes, but it was Buck alright. The more time that passed, the easier the memories came, and the more he had his old friend back. He was damn proud of Buck's mental resilience, and that he could recover from decades of mind-bending and torture with barely more than a stiff face and a few nightmares to show for it.

"Done here?" Buck rasped at him.

"Yeah, but I wanna go the long way home. Mrs. Janis is walking alone again. I think we should hang back and follow, just in case," Steve nodded his head to the edge of the church property, where an elderly lady was walking off down the sidewalk briskly, her head high as if nothing would dare bother her in the dark on a relatively deserted street.

Buck shoved away from the building and they started after the lady.

"Some people get pets, you know. You hafta adopt a whole church parish," Bucky grumbled.

"Eh, shaddup. You like it. I know you do. They bring you carrot cake," Steve teased him.

Buck shrugged and they kept walking. Mrs. Janis was pretty fast for an old dame, so it was good that they had long legs. They could still make their stroll appear casual if she happened to look back at them. Mrs. Janis never looked back, though.

"You still believe in that shit? Or do you go there just for the people?"

"Buck," Steve said in a low, warning tone.

"What? Don't give me that look, as if I'm the one being unreasonable. How can you still believe after all we've seen? After all we've been through?"

"I still believe, especially because of all that's happened. You should know better than anyone that some people choose evil. And everybody else has to suffer the consequences. We can't have free will without that. The bad things aren't God's fault. And if he stopped every bad thing from happening, we'd all be nothing more than puppets. Blaming stuff on God is simplistic thinking. People hafta be free to choose, and then things get complicated," Steve said.

"Hah! What about aliens, then? What about Thor, and all of the realms? Where's that in the holy books?" Buck continued to question him.

"Bucky, you know better than that. Or, you used to. It's not all about a book. An owner's manual doesn't tell you everything there is to know about a car, or how to drive it, or all the places you could go. Just because things exist that aren't in the bible doesn't invalidate it. Come on, you don't throw out all the biology books just because you find out that astronomy exists, too. Back when the scriptures were written, maybe humanity didn't need to know about aliens and other realms," Steve explained his viewpoint.

Buck grunted, but walked on in silence for a while. Mrs. Janis turned on a prissy heel and walked up the steps to her house. Steve and Bucky hung back in the shadows until they saw her safely inside. Then they walked a more direct route back to the tower. Some people stared at Steve every now and then as they got to the busier blocks, but he didn't slow down to talk. Bucky stayed hunkered down into his hat and coat and nobody stared at him.

"Smartass," Buck finally said.

"Hey, I get enough of this crap from Tony. I know you've been through it, Buck. You have a right to your own perspective, and I have a right to mine. I don't try to make you sore about how you believe, so return the favor, huh?" Steve suggested as mildly as he could.

They made their way through heavier foot traffic, but Steve didn't mistake Buck's shoulder colliding with his as an accident. James Barnes almost never did anything physical on accident. The pseudo-accidental shoulder bump was Buck's way of accepting his request for peace on the subject. It was his way of telling him he was alright with where they'd left things, even though he might not agree with Steve's viewpoint.

Decades ago, they'd have argued loudly about anything they disagreed on just for the fun of it. They'd have kept arguing louder and louder until somebody opened a window and hollered at them to shut up. Then they'd both laugh and change the subject to talk about girls or about what kind of car they were gonna get when they had money. Now that they both had money and more women available than they wanted, there was silence when they agreed to drop an argument. It was comfortable.

Tony was a devout atheist, and he didn't know when to let the subject go when he got into it with Steve. So Steve appreciated that Buck could let the peace settle between them as they approached home.

"Do you hear how those good Catholic women talk about you when they think nobody's listening?" Buck asked as they entered the lobby of Avengers tower.

"I try not to listen," Steve said with a barely concealed smile.

"Bullshit. You love it," Buck said as they got into the elevator.

They took their comms out of their ears and turned them off. They never expected privacy because Jarvis was everywhere. The AI was in the street around them, in the elevator, in their bedrooms, and in the airspace over half the city, more than that when needed.

Steve folded his arms across his chest and smiled silently while the elevator took them up almost a thousand feet. He didn't need to say anything. Buck, more than anyone, understood what things meant to him.

Back in the day, women only ever talked about him in one way, and it wasn't flattering. Steve had never heard what they said, but the scorn or worse, the pity, was there in their eyes as they talked. He didn't have to hear their words to know the nature of their thoughts. He was glad his hearing had been awful then, with his sinuses and head clogged up most of the time. It had been tough enough to keep his chin up without overhearing every unkind word.

It had taken Steve a long time to get used to the attention that came with his improved body. He was starting to get a handle on it just as he'd gone down into the ice. Now, with a few more years under him, Steve didn't blush so much when he saw raw lust in their eyes. Or plain, natural want. Or innocent smiles and giggles. It still got to him, but he had a mental trick to let it wash over him without making his skin heat up. Most of the time, he couldn't keep a smile off his face, though.

Bucky saw right through him. His friend knew what that kind of attention used to do to him, so he set his jaw just so and dared Steve to look away and ignore him. It was kinda like that bar in Italy with the wild dancing. Buck liked to challenge him, since he was big enough to be up to it now.

"You gonna do anything about it?"

"C'mon, Buck. They're nice ladies. They don't mean anything by it. They're just lettin off steam and they think they're keeping it to themselves. Most of them are married. I can't fool around there," Steve said while the elevator went up to where Tony and Thor and Jane were.

"Heh. Steam. Yeah," Buck chuckled.

Steve shoved at Bucky for the crude allusion. He momentarily forgot about Buck's arm. Faster than the eye could see, Buck shoved him back, hard. Steve's back bounced off the wall of the elevator, and then it was too late to back down. By the time the elevator opened to the foyer of the living room, Tony was yelling at them.

"Hey! Hey! No super-soldier horseplay in the elevator. It's hard to fix. It still makes a grinding sound from last time," Tony called out.

Buck almost had Steve in a head lock, and Steve cursed because he heard someone's clothes rip. With an asshole move he would only use on Bucky or on someone he truly wanted to maim, Steve got loose and out of the elevator. Buck leaned against the wall and glared at Steve until Tony came over to inspect the damage.

"Goddamnit, that's Brazilian teak, and you splintered it again, Rogers," Tony complained when he looked into the elevator.

"You should quit buying rainforest wood, Tony. You can't be sure where it's sourced from. There's nothing wrong with good American maple," Steve said.

"You were more entertaining before you read half the internet. Do you know that you've got a rip in your pants?" Tony told him.

Buck limped out of the elevator massaging the inside of his thigh with both hands.

"I liked him better when he couldn't hit so hard," Buck complained.

"Yeah, Mister Steve-America. Why do you wanna beat up on your friends? Your churchy people would be ashamed of you. Shocked, even!" Tony teased.

"You don't know them. They'd set up chairs all around and sell tickets for charity," Steve said from the kitchen.

"You wanna do that?" Buck asked seriously.

Steve stopped digging for food in the fridge and stared at Bucky. It made his head hurt sometimes, how Buck was so disparaging of anything religious, yet he was right there with Steve if the roof of the KC hall needed patching, or if the sisters needed something heavy moved. It gave Steve hope that there was still some devotion hiding under all the hurt and surliness. And Buck was sincere. One word from Steve, and he'd be willing to go all out with him in a ring, if it would sell tickets for the orphanage improvements.

"No, I don't wanna do that," Steve said.

He turned back to rummage in the refrigerator for sandwich makings.

An ominous silence came from Tony. The skin prickled along Steve's back and neck. He could feel Tony and Buck thinking.

"No," Steve firmly told them again.

He grabbed the olives and the provolone and the fancy mustard. When he turned to set his haul on the countertop, Tony and Bucky were in a daze of thought. Thor joined them at the bar, grinning. Jane smirked at them and shook her head. She shrugged at Steve in apology. She'd worked in the science department for long enough to know that when Tony got a wild idea, it was best to let it burn itself out without feeding it. It was better if Thor didn't see the need to add his exuberance, so Jane stayed quiet and neutral. Steve was thankful.

"This could be HUGE! I'll make a dedicated pay-per-view channel on one of my satellites so there's no hacking. No freebies. We can ad-campaign the hell out of it. 'Russia's Sinister Cyborg vs. America's golden boy'. No shirts. I'll double my media holdings! How long can you guys make it last?" Tony babbled.

"Probably for a few hours if we're careful. And it would be for charity, Tony. Strictly non-profit. But, no. We're not doing this," Steve shook his head as he toasted bread and laid out the layers of meat and cheese he wanted to use.

"But it's for charity, Stevie. Think of the poor orphans. The nuns would be so proud of you," Buck taunted with a gleam in his eyes.

"The sisters would tan my hide with a belt for putting on a televised skin show," Steve denied.

Tony stopped dithering excitedly with some little thing in his hands and Steve could almost hear the gears in his brain stall and re-engage in another direction. His hands went still and he looked up at Steve and Bucky.

"Anthony. Don't you say it," Steve warned.

He set the mustard jar down almost hard enough to break it.

Jane giggled.

Tony's face was flushed with delighted shock. He was so enthralled, he was momentarily speechless.

"But I have to… It's too good," Tony squeaked out eventually, high and tight like a balloon squealing under pressure.

"None of us are slow. In the several seconds you've been standing there hyperventilating, we all imagined it," Steve told him.

He'd found that if he tried to make something seem boring, Tony sometimes would let it drop. Not this time.

"I'm not even into men much, and I'm sure as hell not into you, Captain Grannypants, but this is so good. Strip you down, chain you up, add nuns and some leather…" Tony breathed.

"Have fun with that in your head, because it's not happening anywhere else," Steve said in as bored a tone as he could muster.

He took his sandwich into the living room and sprawled on the couch. Buck spun on his stool to look from Steve to Tony and back again. When it came to contests of will, the two of them could get pretty entertaining. Steve shook his head at Buck while he chewed his food and Buck deflated somewhat in his eagerness about the pay fight.

He knew that when Steve quit arguing and got that particular set to his chin, the debate was over with. Tony could plan and make proposals all he liked, but no way was Steve Rogers gonna put on a show for anybody. Not if the nuns would disapprove.

The corner of Buck's mouth quirked just a little. What if he could pitch the idea directly to the mother superior of the convent? If he worded it just right, and mentioned how nice it would be to get new insulation in the walls of the orphanage, and better windows, maybe…

Steve's eyes narrowed at him while he ate.

"You know you can't make me fight if I don't want to, Buck. I won't do it," Steve said.

Bucky's shoulders slumped.

Tony sighed and shook his head mournfully.

"It was a beautiful dream," he said.

"Then keep dreaming'," Steve told him.

It was a good sandwich, but what he really wanted was juicy, smoky barbecue, falling off the bone. With Earl Rutherford's homemade barbecue sauce. The pork ribs would have a little black char on them here and there, and the chicken skin would be crispy in places that the sauce burned off. His mouth watered just thinking about it, and his perfect memory recalled the smell of the hickory pit smoke.

Steve finished his sandwich, which now tasted fairly bland by comparison. He hoped Friday night and Saturday would stay peaceful.