The phone rang. It was Angela, the butch from Ernie’s. ‘Ernie gave me your number. I know this is short notice but I need to ask you a favour. I�...m going to a reception tomorrow night and I need a partner. Do you have an evening dress?’ It transpired that Angie was a minor diplomat and the reception was for some visiting dignitary. ‘Low rank or they wouldn’t be sending me.’ That sounded like a little false modesty to me but I agreed. Why wouldn’t I? ‘Why me.’ ‘You’d look good on my arm and it. At any rate I would soon be dropping in at Tribes to imbibe some liquid revitalizer. Tribes is a very large bar with a very small dance floor and a very ancient country music only jukebox to facilitate the hoofers. Most of the patrons are blue collar types and cowboy wannabes. The local constabulary also usually has a presence, and that, with the total support of the owner and top gun bartender Larry Herndon. Larry saw me first and grabbed my attention. "Clyde, I don't want no trouble. Got. More

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