Part 2

“My brother.” Maddox embraced him. He was six-foot-four, 170-pound man with a patchy beard and broken teeth. He wore a red trucker hat and a cheetah-print T-shirt.

“Maddox.” He nodded.

“C’mon, man. Why you do that? Why you call everyone by their last name? We’ve known each other since we got beaten by the principal for peeking under Ms. Bigsby’s skirt in fourth grade. Call me Ray.”

Blackburn grunted and took a swig from his glass. Maddox sat back down between the two aging women in tight black latex clothes; their faces grotesquely enlarged with silicone. Even in the darkness of the bar, Blackburn could see that the contours of their heavy make-up could not quite match the disfigured lines of their faces.

“Here is the action item,” Maddox pushed a slip in front of him.

Blackburn read it and pushed it back.

“Okay. Tomorrow.”

“Take the slip. You’ll forget.”

“I’ve read the slip. I know the guy. He owes you two grand,” Blackburn said slowly. “He’s got a kid. I’ll sort him out after school, so the kid knows.” He shrugged his shoulders and stared down the four hunters sitting in the corner. “Maybe the kid tells his mother. I know her, too. If she doesn’t shoot him for spending money on hookers, I bet he’ll never be late with a payment again.” Blackburn sipped the bourbon.

“That’s what I’m talking about. You are the real deal, Mason. Save everyone’s money and grief. Good man. No. Not good – the fucking G.O.A.T.,” yelled Maddox.

“Yeah. A goat.” Blackburn looked at him puzzled. “I’ll see you.” He turned and walked away. A man walked into him spilling his drink.

“Excuse you, motherfucker.”

“I’m sorry,” said Blackburn.

“Sorry my ass,” the man grabbed on to Blackburn’s jacket. “You ruined my jacket. This is top shelf hunting gear, this.”

“I said I’m sorry. I’m happy to buy you boys a round to cover the inconvenience.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, and the other three hunters stood up.

“Hold on, boys,” Maddox raised his hand. “You don’t want to get into it with this guy. He’s the hungriest fucking pit bull, and he’ll be the last thing you’ll ever see before the heavenly fucking gates.”

The men exchanged uncertain glances. But the man had already swung at Blackburn. Blackburn swiftly lowered his head, turned, and lunged his forehead into the fist. He felt the crunch of snapping bones through his forehead. The man screamed, and his arm fell to his side. Blackburn turned to the other three.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“He broke my fucking hand,” screamed the man, and the others charged. He raised his fists to protect his head, and dug his elbows into his ribs to protect his body. The second man rushed him and swung. Blackburn stepped swiftly aside and let the inertia take the rushing man past him. Then he swung and hit the side of his head, changing the trajectory of his fall straight into a post, shattering his collar bone. The man screamed. Two down. The third man hit him to the side of the neck, and Blackburn twitched as blood pounded heavily in his jugular. From aside, he swung at the edge of the second man’s ribs, his fist catching the ribs and the liver. Blackburn knew he was down before the man did. The fourth man was large and slow.

“Get that motherfucker,” screamed the instigator.

In the corner of his eye, Blackburn saw the third man grabbing his side, stumbling, and dropping to his knees trying to catch his breath.

“You don’t have to do this, big boy.”

“I didn’t. But now I do.” He pointed at his friends.

“Fair.” Blackburn nodded, raised his fists, and waited.