Mantarl's mate was no doubt upstairs in their flat, keeping their young cub entertained and caring for Ian's wife Siobhan, who'd just given birth to a...son two weeks ago.Ian waved at me as I entered, and drew a pint of stout for me as I sat down. It was a local brew, not the Guinness I'd favored at home, but it was tasty nonetheless.I took a much smaller sip than was my custom, and Ian's eyebrow raised slightly. He wasn't the type to pry, but neither did he let anything go unnoticed.I took. In an instant, Little Augie Maxim remembered his childhood on thestreets of Indianapolis before the nuns took him in. His intellect hadwon for him a reward his skin color would have denied him in that timeand place. He remembered his mother speaking of how white men hadtreated her, used her. She had confessed before she died that his fatherhad been a white man, one who had first beaten her, then paid her andused her. Not that his mother had been a prostitute, just a poor blackwoman who did what. More

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