D.S. James Hathaway was putting on his overcoat and gloves, ready to head home at last at the end of a tiring week. It was already dark, though just past five, and the weather forecast that threatened a rare winter storm some time during the night made him eager to get home before the snow flew.

D.I. Robert Lewis looked up from the conversation he had just finished on his mobile.

"Hey, Hathaway, you doing anything tonight?"

"Just staying warm and off the roads."

"Fancy a drink? Me old mates Mack and Danny are in town." He noticed the younger man's hesitation. "We'll be home before the snow, it's not even supposed to start until two or so. C'mon, it'll be more fun than sitting at home drinking alone."

Hathaway had enjoyed meeting Lewis's old Newcastle mates some time ago. Danny was friendly and easy to like, with a self-deprecating sense of humor Hathaway found refreshing. Mack was argumentative and prickly and had made no secret of the fact that he despised people with privileged backgrounds, such as Hathaway. But he was as loyal to Lewis as could be, and Hathaway relished the challenge of winning him over.

"It's tempting, Sir. But I can't lug all three of you old men home when you end up under the table."

"Not a problem, Sergeant. You'll be the first one on the floor. This is drinking with the big dogs."

"Ohh, is this going to be some sort of man-contest?"

"With Mack, everything's a man-contest. You in or out?"

"Ah, why not? It's hard to pass up another opportunity to prove you wrong, Sir."

Lewis smiled knowingly. "Just like it's hard for me to pass up another opportunity to teach you something about the big world, Hathaway."

They arrived at the Gardner's Arms ahead of Mack and Danny.

"I'll get them in. Find us a table near the dartboard, okay?"

Hathaway picked one that was also not too far from the door for his smoke breaks.

Lewis brought the first pair of pints over and went back for the second set. Just as he got back to the table, Danny and Mack arrived and quickly shed their coats and took chairs. Mack sat down with Danny on his right and appraised Hathaway, to his left.

"Ah, you brought the young'un along. How's he goin' to keep up, then, like?"

"He thinks he's up to it. And you're big enough to carry him home if he's not."

Mack snorted at that. "Well, let's get started, right?" He pulled out a deck of cards, shuffling and fanning them with considerable expertise.

Hathaway looked at Lewis with curiosity.

"High card calls the shots. It's an arcane and pointlessly complex ritual. Just watch."

Mack gave a final shuffle and cut the deck with one hand. "Now, I'll go first so by the time we get to him, he'll have the picture." Hathaway got the distinct impression that Mack intentionally did not remember his name.

Mack held up his beer, and they all followed suit.

"Schnapps. Prost!" The three older men all took a swallow of beer, and kept their glasses in the air. Hathaway trailed by half a second.

Then Danny said, "Akavit. Skoal!" And they repeated the swig of beer.

It was Lewis's turn. "Ouzo. Yiamas!" Another gulp.

Mack groaned. "Last time it was ouzo, I woke up in the slammer. Cost me fifty pound to get out." Then he turned to Hathaway. "What's your poison, son?"

"Gin. Cheers!" After the fourth toast, Danny hopped up and collected the three empty glasses. Hathaway quickly drained his, reading Mack's expression. Falling behind already?

Lewis helped Danny bring the four pints back to the table and when they were all seated again, Mack dealt a card off the top of the deck to each man, starting with himself. Then he turned his over. Eight of clubs. "Alright, can you beat that?"

Danny turned his. Three of spades. "Bah."

Lewis flipped his card. Jack of diamonds. "Sorry, Mack. That's going to be hard to beat." He grinned.

They all looked at Hathaway. He turned over the queen of hearts. The three men yelped. Lewis shook his head with a sorry smile. "Queen of hearts means we do doubles. C'mon, might as well buy a bottle." They went up to the bar together, Lewis gathering four glasses from the barman and Hathaway taking the freshly opened fifth of Beefeater.

They got back to the table and, as Hathaway poured the four measures, Danny asked, "How are you at darts, James?"

"Pretty poor, I expect."

"You'll be with Mack then so the teams are more even, like. So how this works is Mack throws, and then I throw, and whichever of us scores lower, both blokes on that team take their shots. Then you throw and Robbie throws, and same deal, lower-scoring team drinks. If it's a draw, no one drinks. You can have beer any time you want, it doesn't count. Now, one more thing, if one of us scores the card he drew—if Mack hits an eight, me a three, Robbie an eleven, or you a twelve—we all drink."

The teams were pretty even, it turned out, with Mack outscoring Danny about as often as Lewis outscored Hathaway. But as the points added up, the throws fell farther away from their intended marks. Hathaway lost track of whose turn it was, and when they stood him up, he had to lean his backside against the table with Mack supporting him on his non-throwing, left side. The board itself was out of focus, and it rotated slowly around the room. He was at least able to hit the board with one of the four darts, which was more than Lewis managed, earning him a "Good lad!" from Mack. As Lewis and Danny downed their doubles, James sat heavily in the nearest chair, put his cheek down amid the puddles of gin and beer on the table, and knew no more.

* * *