As we came to the front of the school he jerked my arm, pulling me backward. "We'd better go around the other side." He said, alarmed. "Richard Fuckface and his asshole friends are standing over there."

I looked where he was indicating and saw a real blast from the past. Richard Fairview was one of many bullies at our high school. He was about six feet tall and about as dumb as a person could get while still remembering to draw breath every couple of seconds. He'd been one of the terrors of our school, his scam, when he wasn't beating people's ass for the fun of it, to post himself at an entry point and rip off lunch money from arriving kids that were dumb enough to approach him. As always he had five or six companions lounging there with him. They were all smoking cigarettes and eyeing the approaching throngs, looking for targets. I'd had my ass beaten by him a time or two. Had that happened yet? I wondered, unable to place just when those occurrences had taken place.

A smile formed on my face. In the ensuing seventeen years I'd learned a lot both about psychology and physical combat. Bullies, I knew, relied mostly on the complacency of their victims. They relied on their size and intimidation to get what they wanted. Very few of them actually knew how to fight. I, however, had worked for years at a job where physical assault by one's patients or one's patient's family members was an almost daily happening. Though somewhat of a wimp in high school, life had taught me a thing or two about hand to hand fighting. The most important thing I'd learned was that, while getting hit by a fist was painful, it wasn't THAT painful.

"C'mon." I told Mike, smiling still, heading directly towards Richard and his co-horts.

"Are you high?" Mike asked me. "He's got his friends there. I could kick his ass any day one on one but his friends will jump in."

"No they won't." I told Mike confidently. "Just watch. Stand back and don't do anything. His friends won't get in on anything."