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hard. Isaiah, God bless his soul, made a grab for the fucker’s leg and missed and the latch on the door landed right on his wrists and holy shit fuck motherfucker was there some screaming, and Isaiah recoiling his hands as the door popped up a foot. Lafitte slammed it all the way closed this time.
    Lo-Wider squinted like he did for horror movies, but he got a good peek at Isaiah, now on his ass on the asphalt, holding a purpled wrist. Broken glass in a water balloon. Seething through his teeth and saying Shiiiiiiit-ahhhhh-shhhhiiiiiiiit.
    Steve banged on the truck.
    Coward this! Faggot that! Motherfucker!
    Motherfucker! Mother—shit! Cheap shot piece of shit! Fuck you up!
    Gonna fuck you up! You can’t stay in there forever!
    Lo-Wider’s gnarled-up stomach was going to go full diarrhea soon if this didn’t calm down. He glanced around the lot. Mommies coming out of the stores were staring. People pumping gas were staring. People at the counter in Waffle House, turned around, staring. One of them fuckers was going to call the police. Sure as shit they were.
    Steve still banging.
    Piece of motherfucking ass !
    Isaiah still seething. Writhing. On his back now, full roll going on.
    Steve still banging.
    Going to FUCK YOU UP! You hear me? BGM for life, motherfucker! BGM—
    Steve went down hard on his back. Took Lo-Wider a second to figure out what was going on. Lafitte had grabbed the kid’s ankles from underneath the truck.
    How the fuck—
    Lo-Wider could’ve sworn—
    Steve kicked and scuttled his way out from under the truck. Lafitte rolled out and hopped up before Steve could flip himself over. Lafitte grabbed him at the waist, a fistful of oversize shorts, and lifted him like a sack of potatoes.
    “Who sent you? Who’s been watching me?”
    “ I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. ”
    “But you BGM for life, ain’t you? You following orders, ain’t you? Who sent you?”
    “ I don’t know, please, please, I wasn’t going to do nothing, please. ”
    Lafitte dropped Steve, who let out a whoosh of air and a yelp. Lafitte stepped over to Isaiah and knelt beside him. Isaiah was out of his mind with pain. Rocking back and forth. Cradling his hand. Lafitte reached in, grabbed him by the crushed wrist. The scream that came out of Isaiah was enough to make a man piss his pants.
    “Who sent you? Tell me. I know who it was. I want to hear you say it.”
    “Is, is, is.” Deep, rattling breath. “Is, is, is...oh God, fuck, Jesusjesusjesus.”
    Lafitte squeezed a little tighter. “Say the fucking name already!”
    Steve had gotten up and launched himself for Lafitte’s back. Wrapped a forearm around his neck and got him in a sleeper. Lo-Wider knew better. Sleepers never fucking worked. Wrestling was fake. It was all fake. Learned when he was thirteen.
    Lafitte, red-faced, stood. Steve had a few inches on him, bent him backwards. Steve tightened more and more, cutting off Lafitte’s pipes. Lafitte hooked his fingers on top of Steve’s forearm, but he couldn’t pry loose.
    Steve’s eyes, left right left right, looking for help. Isaiah near tears, fetal position. Lo-Wider, no way. Not worth it. He stood where he stood and shook his phone. Ring, motherfucker, ring .
    Lafitte planted his feet and opened his mouth wide and let out a scream and wrenched himself forward, lifting Steve off the ground, over Lafitte’s head. Lafitte reached back, took the kid’s leg, and sent him over, hard, headfirst onto the pavement. Lo-Wider heard the loudest eggshell crack he’d ever heard, and Steve went limp on his back except for herky-jerky in his legs, arms. There was a lot of blood.
    “Shit, no, shit, no.” Lafitte swallowed air and crawled over to Steve. Slapped his face. “Shit, no, shit, wake up kid. Shit, wake up.” Held a palm in front of Steve’s face. “Shit!” Leaned his ear to his chest, listened. “SHIT! SHIT!”
    Started two-handed pumping Steve’s chest. “No no no no. Goddamn it. Not