The big man slid to the ground like wet sand.

'Okay, that's enough!'

The man with the fedora stepped closer, a gun drawn and pointed at Myron's chest.

'Back away from him. Now'

Myron squinted at him. 'Is that really a fedora?'

'I said, back off!'

'Okay, okay, I'm backing.'

'You didn't have to do that,' the smaller man said with almost childlike hurt. 'He was just doing his job.'

'A misunderstood youth,' Myron added. 'Now I feel terrible.'

'Just stay away from Chaz Landreaux, okay?'

'Not okay. Tell Roy O'Connor I said it's not okay.'

'Hey, I ain't hired to get no answer. I'm just delivering.'

Without another word the man with the fedora helped his fallen colleague to his feet. The big man stumbled to their car, one hand on his nose, the other massaging his windpipe. His nose was busted, but his throat would hurt even worse, especially when he swallowed.

They got in and quickly drove away. They did not stop to change Myron's tire.

13

2

Myron dialed Chaz Landreaux's number on his car phone.

Not being what one would call mechanically inclined, it had taken Myron half an hour to change the tire. He rode slowly for the first few miles, fearing his handiwork would encourage the tire to slip off and flee. When he felt more confident, he accelerated and started back on the road to Christian's.

When Chaz answered, Myron quickly explained what happened.

'They was already here,' Chaz told him. Lots of noise in the background.

An infant cried. Something fell and broke. Children laughed. Chaz shouted for quiet.