“I think you’re free-lance assholes,” Leonard said.

“Fuck you,” Parade Float said.

“Do-gooders,” Mohawk said. “Like in the movies. That’s what you fucks are. Right?”

Leonard gave Mohawk a studied look. “Get off my property. Now. Otherwise, your friends next door’ll be wiping you out of your big friend’s ass here. Provided they can get what’s left of him out of that shower cap.”

“Fuck you,” Parade Float said.

“I was wondering about that cap,” I said. “You leave the water running? Go looking for a towel?”

“Fuck you,” Parade Float said again.

“You run out of your daily word allotment,” I said, “how you gonna beg us for mercy?”

“Wooo,” Mohawk said. “This little talk could lead to something.”

“Don’t make me happy prematurely,” Leonard said.

And then Leonard moved. His cane went out between Mohawk’s legs, and he popped it forward, locking one of Mohawk’s knees, and the move tossed Mohawk face-forward off the porch.

Leonard stepped aside and Mohawk hit the ground on his head. Sounded like it hurt.

That was my cue. As Parade Float stepped off the porch to get involved, I shot out a side kick and hit him on his stepping leg, square on the kneecap. He came down on his head too. He got both hands under him, started to rise, and I kicked him in the throat with about a third of what I had.

He rolled over on his back holding his throat, gurgling. The shower cap stayed in place. I never realized how tight those little buddies fit. Maybe it was just the light blue ones.

Leonard had Mohawk up now and had dropped his cane and was working Mohawk with a series of lefts and rights and knee lifts, and he wouldn’t let him fall. Mohawk’s body was jumping all over the yard, like he had a pogo stick up his ass.

“That’s enough, Leonard,” I said. “Your knuckles will swell.”

Leonard hit Mohawk a couple more under the short ribs and didn’t move in close enough to support him this time. Mohawk crumpled on the grass, made a noise like gas escaping.