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and mumbled, “Whatever.” Mark’s hand let go of the pump’s trigger and the flow of gasoline stopped with barely five inches of gasoline at the bottom of the canister. He pulled the nozzle out and shoved it back into the pump’s holster. He was finished with this game.
    “Whatchu doin’?” Ty said, contorting his face at Mark. “That ain’t enough!”
    But Mark had seen enough. He knew Ty really wanted more time, not more gasoline. The only way to call out this con was to do it directly. They were, after all, in public, near a busy street amidst three other cars getting gasoline at the station’s other islands. Given Ty’s size, what was the worst thing that could happen?
    “Come on, man,” Mark said. He pointed down at the canister. “You don’t really need gas do you?” He chuckled in an exaggerated laugh to induce Ty into an honest confession.
    Ty’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to Mark. “Say what?” he said through clenched teeth. He rose up on his toes to look over the gas pump toward the street.
    “You’re not fooling anybody,” Mark said.
    Ty turned sideways to Mark and with his concealed hand he pulled a black revolver from under his sweatpants. Ty held the gun low, aiming it at Mark’s crotch for a moment and then lowered it to his side with a straight arm. He used Mark’s car and the gas pump to obstruct its view from the other people gassing up nearby. At about five feet away, Mark didn’t feel close enough to do anything about the gun and he was sure Ty could raise and fire it before Mark could take even a step toward him.
    Mark’s instinct was to step away—to run, and in his normal state of mind, he would have. This was a worst-case scenario come true. But something about Ty, even while holding a gun, failed to intimidate Mark. Perhaps it was Mark’s recent plunge into depression mixed with his anger about this con that had numbed his fear and affected his judgment. On the drive to the gas station, Mark had imagined being more afraid if Ty were to assault him, but now he felt more annoyed than afraid—more irritated than intimidated.
    “Hey, listen, whatever you want, man,” Mark said as he raised his hands, showing calm, collected surrender. “I was just asking if you really need gas.” He studied Ty to see if a subdued tone and agreeable words could make the gun go away.
    “I’ll tell you what I really need,” Ty said through clenched teeth. “I need you to step away from the car, bitch.”
    “Bitch? Oh, now I’m a bitch?” Mark said, startled by his own indignation while facing a man who held a gun. “I stop to help you, drive you, buy you gasoline and now I’m a bitch for it?”
    Ty, surprised that Mark had neither fled, nor obeyed, raised the gun from his side and pointed it at Mark’s chest. He checked over his shoulders, cocked the gun and leaned back slightly to peer between two pumps—looking to see if any of the other gas station customers had seen him with the gun yet. They hadn’t. Each customer was fully involved with gassing up their cars or cleaning their windshields.
    “If you wanna see Thanksgiving, bitch, back away from the car,” Ty said.
    “No problem,” Mark said. He stepped up onto the elevated concrete slab on which the gas pumps sat. Ty eased past him and put one foot into the driver’s side door. He tossed the gun onto the passenger seat. From his vantage point, Mark saw the gun land and bounce next to his phone that he had forgotten to take from the car. When Ty sat in the driver’s seat and began to pull the car door shut, Mark leapt, blocking the door from closing with his leg. He grabbed Ty by the collar of his windbreaker. Ty slapped the passenger seat with his hand, trying to grab the gun, but failed as Mark yanked him from the car, swinging him in a half circle so that Ty slammed into the car’s closed rear door. Ty grabbed Mark’s shirt and held on. Mark swung at him again and they spun holding each other’s clothing