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a flea-bitten gray. Ugly swayback horse, but boy, was she gorgeous. Long blonde hair flying in the wind—” He sighed and lit up a Marlboro. “I sure messed up.”
    “Mom still looks good,” said Christian. “And sometimes, I think, she misses you, too. But Frank’s a nice guy and treats her like a queen.”
    “I’m glad. Angie deserves to be happy.”
    Christian looked past his father at a big man who had been seated at the bar and was now walking toward them. “You know him?”
    Hank glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, Christ, the guy used to work for me.” He turned back around, and the man stopped at their table. “What do you want, Larry?”
    “I hear you’re eaten up with cancer.” Larry smirked. “That’s too bad. I was wondering if that fucking wetback is still working for you.”
    “Just move on,” Hank said.
    “Look, old man, I don’t work for you anymore, and you’re in no condition to give me orders.”
    Christian slid out of the booth and glared into the man’s moroniceyes. “You were told to move on. But if you got a beef with my father, you can take it up with me.” Although he and Larry were close to the same age and height, the guy was built like a bulldozer. Christian topped the scale at 175 pounds, but the bum outweighed him by nearly a hundred.
    “Christian, sit down,” Hank said. “He’s not worth the effort.”
    “Yeah.” Larry laughed. “Sit your ass down, pretty boy, before you get hurt.” He gave Christian’s shoulder a slight shove.
    Instantly, Christian’s temper rose like a flash flood. He lunged at Larry, caught him with a right hook to the jaw and sent him crashing backward against the pool table. Larry rubbed his jaw and slowly straightened. “You skinny fucker, I’m gonna kick your ass.” He stomped forward.
    Christian’s fists were up and ready. Larry swung. Christian ducked and punched his opponent’s beer gut. Larry doubled over and coughed. The three men at the bar moved in. Christian grabbed a cue off the pool table. He wielded the makeshift weapon and shouted, “You want a piece of me? Come on!”
    “Leave him alone!” Shirley screamed from the bar.
    One of the men rushed Christian, who swung the stick, breaking it against the man’s temple and sending him to his knees.
    “Get ’im, boys,” Larry yelled. His other two buddies leaped at Christian, who managed to cuff one’s nose before they wrestled his arms down.
    Larry clopped in front of Christian. “Hold him! Hold him still,” he said to the men. “I’m gonna teach this fucker a lesson.” Larry pulled back to swing, but he was struck from behind with a bar stool. He collapsed on the floor, unconscious.
    Standing over Larry, Hank dropped the broken stool and muttered, “Son of a bitch.”
    With the men’s attention diverted, Christian elbowed the ribs of one of his captors. His arm free, he turned and flew into the second man, hammering at his face. Christian and the two men exchangedblows when Christian heard the sharp ratcheting sound of metal against metal, the unmistakable and nerve-shattering noise of someone pumping a shotgun.
    Everyone froze.
    Shirley stepped toward them, holding the deadly weapon. “Get out of my place,” she growled, aiming the gun at Larry’s friends. “Or else you’ll be digging birdshot out of your hide.” The man who had been whacked with the cue stick stumbled to his feet, and the threesome dragged Larry, now semiconscious and moaning, out the door.
    Christian breathed hard, so charged up that it took a few moments to lower his fists and calm down a little. He tasted blood from a split lip and glanced at his bruised knuckles.
    “You all right?” his father asked.
    Christian felt his aching cheek and jaw. “Yeah, thanks for the help. Not bad for a sick guy.” He walked to the window and watched the men leave, making sure they didn’t take out their hostility on his vehicle.
    Shirley was picking up the broken pieces of wood and glass. “I’m so