“What the hell is your error?” Raynor yelled over the clangor of loud, thrashing music that spilled out from inside the truck.

“My error? I’m lookin’ at him.”

“You’re such a moron. You’re gonna pay for all that damage back there!”

“Okay, farm boy, I’ll pay you with some fresh manure. Cup your hands.”

Furious, Raynor latched onto the Harnack kid’s legs, attempting to pull them out from under him, but the youth held tight onto the door frame. Raynor jumped back to avoid a kick in the face, but then Harnack launched himself out of the cab, clearly intending to land on top of Jim and ride him to the ground.

But Raynor anticipated the move, sidestepped his opponent, and had the pleasure of seeing him land spread-eagled on the pavement. “Stomp him!” someone shouted, but Raynor shook his head and waited for the other driver to get up.

The Harnack kid had game, Raynor had to admit, as his foe bounced up off the road with fists raised. His forehead was bleeding, as was his right forearm, but he appeared to be in no way intimidated. “Come on, sissy boy,” the other teenager said. “Show me what you got other than a funny looking face!”

“What are you, five years old?” His hands were up by then, held just the way his father had taught him, as both circled, looking for an opening.

“Knock his block off!” Omer shouted from the crowd. “Kick his ass!”

Raynor could tell it wasn’t going to be that easy, as Harnack threw a couple of quick jabs and drove him backward. He responded in kind, landed a blow that glanced off the other driver’s left cheekbone, and took a fist to the stomach in return.

Raynor knew that people were yelling things, rooting for him mostly, but the sound of it merged into an indecipherable roar. The first flush of anger had disappeared by then and his brain had kicked in. Think, he told himself, look for some sort of weakness, so you can land some good punches and end this thing quickly.