One of the hags leaned toward Dugan and yelled, “Shut up with that noise. I can’t stand that goddamn noise.”
Dugan went on humming.
“You gonna shut up?” the hag screeched.
“He won’t shut up,” the other hag said. “Only way to quiet him down is shoot him.”
“One of these nights I’ll do just that,” the first hag said. “I’ll come in here with a gun, and so help me, I’ll put a slug in his throat.”
Kerrigan was at the bar. He caught Dugan’s attention and said he wanted a beer. Dugan filled a glass and brought it to him. He finished it quickly and ordered another. He looked up at the clock above the bar and the hands pointed to twelve-ten. In his jacket pocket the camera was very heavy.
The first hag was pointing to Kerrigan and saying loudly, “Look at that goddamn fool. Look at the way he’s all dressed up.”
“In a winter suit,” the other hag said.
“Maybe he thinks it’s wintertime,” the first hag said. She was short and shapeless and her hair was dyed orange.
The other hag began to laugh. She made a sound like two pieces of rusty metal scraping against each other. Her throat was ribboned with several knife scars and on her face she had a hideous vertical scar that ran from the right eye down to the mouth. She was of average height and weighed around eighty pounds. Pointing a bony finger at Kerrigan, she jeered, “You tryin’ to suffocate? Is that whatcha wanna do? You wanna suffocate?”