I got up.
“Take it outside,” the bartender called. “I mean it, Mikey. You start shit in here again and I’ll call the cops.”
“Mikey,” I said. “That’s cute.”
They surrounded me. I could smell their anger, the blood boiling just underneath their skin. They were spoiling for a fight, not giving a shit that it was four against one. They moved like a pack, like they’d done this before. For all I knew they had. Perhaps the girl was bait and they’d thought I was an easy mark.
They led me toward the door.
I let them.
They were cocky. Sure. They stank of sweat and cigarettes. It reminded me of how Gordo had once been, sitting behind the garage in the ratty lawn chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, oil under his fingernails. He didn’t smoke anymore.
The night air was cool. I was amused when I tried to remember where I was, what town, what state, and I couldn’t. It was just another place.
One of the men shoved me from behind.
I stumbled forward into the parking lot, the gravel crunching under my boots.
“Smug fucker,” the one with the tattoo said. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
I grinned at him. I felt feral, like I used to be. I wanted to tear into them, make them bleed. Hear them scream until they begged for me to stop.
Maybe it’d make me feel something other than hollowed out.
“You don’t have to do this,” Not-Kelly said, leaning against the side of a truck, arms folded. “You could walk away.”
“Nah,” I said. “I’ve earned this.”
He shook his head.
“Earned what?” the man demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
“A great man once asked a question,” I told him, ignoring the crowd gathering outside the bar. They wanted a show. I’d give them one. “He stood, his head held high. He wasn’t afraid. He knew what he was capable of, and though he would do anything to protect what was his, he still believed in mercy. I’m going to ask you the same question.”
The men looked at each other before turning back to me.
I said, “What are your names?”
Not-Kelly sighed.
The tattooed man didn’t feel like talking. He swung at me, his fist big and blocky.
I caught his hand before it could connect.
He tried to pull away.
I didn’t let him.
I said, “I asked you a question. What are your names?”
I squeezed his fist. I felt his bones creak.
His eyes widened.
I let him go.
They came, all of them at once. They got a few hits in. One of them sucker punched me in the kidneys, causing a sharp flare of pain, bright and glassy. I welcomed it.