"Get out," he said.
"What's wrong now?" Kintyre didn't move.
"Get out!" The eyes that turned to him were dark circles rimmed all around with white. The tones cracked across. "I'll see you later. There could be trouble if you stay. Blow!"
Kintyre made no doubt of it. Ordinarily he would have left, he was not one to search for a conflict. But he did not think any man could be worse to meet than the horror, and he could feel the horror still waiting to take him, as soon as he stopped having other matters to focus on.
He poured out the rest of his beer. Then the man was standing at the booth.
He was young indeed, Kintyre saw, perhaps so young he needed false identification to drink. His face was almost girlish, in a broad-nosed sleepy-eyed way, and very white. The rest of him was middling tall and well muscled; he moved with a sureness which told Kintyre he was quick on his feet.
"Uh," said Guido.
The young man jerked his head backward.
"He was just—just going," chattered Guido. "Right away."
"When I finish my beer, of course," said Kintyre mildly.