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allahan's； and I noticed him the moment he walked in。 No great feat； he was a sight to see。 He looked like a barrel with legs； and I mean a big barrel。 On its side。 On top of this abundance sat a head like a hastily peeled potato； and on top of the head sat … or rather sprawled … the most ridiculous hat I'd ever seen。 It could have passed for a dead zeppelin； floppy and disheveled； a villainous yellow in color。 From the moment I saw it I expected it of slide down his face like a disreputable avalanche； but some mysterious force held it at eyebrow level。 I couldn't estimate his age。
Callahan served him without blinking an eye … I some times suspect that if a pink gorilla walked into Callahan's； on fire； and ordered a shot； Callahan would ask if it wanted a chaser。 The guy inhaled three fingers of gin in as many seconds； had Callahan build him another； and strolled on over to the crowd by the dart board； where Long…Drink McGonnigle and Doc Webster were locked in mortal bat。 I followed along； sensing something zany in the wind。
Some of us at Callahan's are pretty good with a dart； and consequently the throwing distance is thirty feet； a span which favors brute strength but requires accuracy along with it。 The board is a three foot circle with a head…shot of a certain politician （supply your own） on its face； concentric circles of fifty； fourty； twenty； ten and one point each superimposed over his notorious features。 When I got to where I could see the board Doc Webster had just planted a dandy high on the right cheek for fourty； and Long…Drink was straining to look unconcerned。
〃What's the stakes？〃 the guy with the hat asked me。 His voice sounded like a '54 Chevy with bad valves。
〃Quarts of Scotch；〃 I told him。 〃The challenger stakes a bottle against the previous winner's total。 Last year the Doc there went home with six cases of Peter Dawson's。〃 He grunted； watched the Doc notch an ex…presidential ear （you supplied the same politician； didn't you？）； then asked how he could sign up。 I directed him to Fast Eddie； who was taking a night off from the piano to referee； and kept half an eye on him while I watched the match。 He took no part in the conversational hilarity around him； but watched the bat with a vacuous stare； rather like a man about to fall asleep before the TV。 It was reasonably apparent that wit was not his long suit。 Doc Webster won the match handily； and the stein that Long…Drink disconsolately pegged into the big fireplace joined a mound of broken glass that was mute testimony to the Doc's prowess。 One of my glasses was in that pile。
About a pound of glass later； Fast Eddie called out； 〃Dink Fogerty；〃 and the guy with the hat stood up。 The Doc beamed at him like a bear being sociable to a hive； and offered him the darts。
They made a quite a pair。 If Fogerty was a barrel； the Doc is what they shipped the barrel in； and it probably rattled a lot。 Fogerty took the darts； rammed them together point…first into a nearby table…top； and stood back smiling。 The Doc blinked； then smiled back and toed the mark。 Plucking a dart from the table…top with an effort； he grinned over his shoulder at Fogerty and let fly。
The dart missed the board entirely。
A gasp went up from the crowd； and the Doc frowned。 Fogerty's expression was unreadable。 The champ plucked another dart； wound up and threw again。
The dart landed in the fireplace' fifteen feet to the left with a noise like change rattling in a pocket。
〃It curved；〃 the Doc yelped； and some of the crowd guffawed。 But from where I stood I could see that there were four men between Doc Webster and the fireplace； and I could also see the beginnings of an unpleasant smile on Fogerty's thick features。
None of the Doc's remaining shots came close to the target； and he left the firing line like a disconsolate blimp； shaking his head and looking at his hand。 Fogerty took his place and； without removing that absurd hat； selected a dart。
Watching his throw I thought for a second the match might turn out a draw。 His wind…up was pitiful； his stance ungainly； and he held the dart too near the feathers； his other arm stiff at his side。 He threw like a girl； and his follow … through was nonexistent。
The dart landed right between the eyes with a meaty thunk。
〃Winner and new champeen； Dink Fogerty；〃 Fast Eddie hollered over the roar of the crowd； and Fogerty took a long； triumphant drink from the glass he'd set down on a nearby table。 Fast Eddie informed him that he'd just won thirty…five bottles of Scotch； and the new champ smiled； turned to face us。
〃Any takers？〃 he rasped。 The '54 Chevy had gotten a valve job。
〃Sure；〃 said Noah Gonzalez； next on the list。 〃Be damned if you'll take us for three dozen bottles with one throw。〃 Fogerty nodded agreeably； retrieved his dart from the target and toed the mark again。 And with the same awkward； off…balance throw as before； he proceeded to place all six darts in the fifty circle。
By the last one the silence in the room was plete； and Noah's strangled 〃I concede；〃 was plainly audible。 Fogerty just looked smug and took another big gulp of his drink； set it down on the same table。
〃Ten dollars says you can't do that again；〃 the Doc exploded； and Fogerty smiled。 Fast Eddie went to fetch him the darts； but as he reached the target。。。
〃Hold it！〃 Callahan bellowed； and the room froze。 Fogerty turned slowly and stared at the big redheaded barkeep； an innocent look on his pudding face。 Callahan glared at him； brows like thunderclouds。
〃Whassamatter； chief？〃 Fogerty asked。
〃Damned if I know；〃 Callahan rumbled； 〃but I've seen you take at least a dozen long swallows from that drink you got； and it's still full。〃
Every eye in the place went to Fogerty's glass； and sure enough。 Not only was it full； all the glasses near it were emptier than their owners remembered leaving them； and an angry buzzing began。
〃Wait a minute；〃 Fogerty protested。 〃My hands've been in plain sight every minute … all of you saw me。 You can't pin nothin' on me。〃
〃I guess you didn't use your hands； then；〃 Callahan said darkly； and a great light seemed to dawn on Doc Webster's face。
〃By God；〃 he roared； 〃a telekinetic！ Why you lowdown； no good。。。〃
Fogerty made a break for the door； but Fast Eddie demonstrated the veracity of his name with a snappy flying tackle that cut Fogerty down before he covered five yards。 He landed with a crash before Long…Drink McGonnigle； who promptly sat on him。 〃Tele … what？〃 inquired Long…Drink conversationally。
〃Telekinesis；〃 the Doc explained。 〃Mind over matter。 I knew a telekinetic in the Army who could roll sevens as long as you cared to watch。 It's a rare talent； but it exists。 And this bird's got it。 Haven't you； Fogerty？〃
Fogerty blustered for a while； but finally he broke down and admitted it。 A lot of jaws dropped； some bouncing off the floor； and Long…Drink let the guy with the hat back up； backing away from him。 The hat still clung gaudily to his skull like a homosexual barnacle。
〃You mean you directed dem darts wit' yer mind？〃 Fast Eddie expostulated。
〃Nah。 Not ezzackly。 I。。。 I make the dart … board want darts。〃