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where the wall is missing. It’ll bring you out about there.” He pointed to the wall opposite the front entrance.
    Antonio looked at him as if he’d just jabbered in something other than English. “Dude, that’s a fifty foot drop to the street. At least.”
    I headed to the steps. “Just keep everyone calm and inside, okay?”
    Derek nodded. “Okay.” One of his snow-white brows arched. “You have a plan?”
    I shrugged. “Not going back to the Max.” At this point, I figured me being an ex-con would matter less than the quartet outside. Afterwards might be a completely different story.
    I crossed the room and gingerly ascended the chipped and broken stairs one at a time. I didn’t know if they would stand up to supporting almost nine hundred pounds. Luck was with me, for once, and I reached the top and made my way across the broken wooden floor keeping to the exposed steel I-Beams. Finally, I reached the busted windows and stepped outside without hesitation.
    My landing wasn’t the softest or quietest in recorded history. Hell, it wasn’t even close. I hit the asphalt with a loud smack and drove a crater nearly a foot deep into the weathered street. I counted myself lucky that I didn’t drop through into the sewer. I stepped out of the hole and headed to the other side of the building.
    I peeked around the corner and saw that all of the boys, five of them in total, were now out of the vehicle. Each boy was large, not Enhanced-big like Behemoth, but normal college jock-sized. Four of them leaned against the front bumper of the car, passing a bottle back and forth. The last stood in front of the plywood door, pounding on it with a fist.
    He had bleach-blonde hair cut into a shaggy surfer style, and the streetlight on the other side of the road gave it a silver glow. The aroma of marijuana hung heavy in the air, noticeable even as far away as I stood. Upon further observation, I noticed a slight sway in his stance. Probably drunk, too.
    “Open up, you bums!” he yelled and then glanced back at the others. The four of them laughed and nodded, encouraging the leader to bang on the door again. “Come on! You don’t want us to have to break down the door, do you?”
    I wanted to march over to the quintet and throw them to the other side of town. Or at least break ten sets of limbs. However, I didn’t do that sort of thing anymore and I’d never purposefully injured a Norm. Just wading in with fists flying would result in either a trip back to the Max or a return to Martin’s side, neither of which was appealing.
    “I ain’t going to ask you again, you fucking bums! Open the door or we’re going to break it down and kick your asses.”
    Property damage, on the other hand…
    I turned my gaze to their ride, a classic ‘68 Chevy Camaro with cherry red paint and a black ragtop. The woof-woof-woof of the motor indicated a big V-8, probably a 350. It was a very sweet piece of American machinery. Beautiful to see and hear. Too bad it was soon going to be junk.
    I turned away from the scene and headed back to the other side of the building, growing more annoyed with each round of laughter I heard. I wasn’t sure how long the rest would be able to hold out. Either they stayed inside until the punks came in after them or they came out and got in my way. I reached the point of my egress and searched for something big and heavy, my temper flaring hotter by the second.
    Maybe that prison shrink was right about my so-called “issues”.
    I grabbed a twelve-foot piece of steel girder rising up out of the rubble and yanked it free. It felt as if it weighed about half a ton and would do perfectly. I felt a harsh smile form on my face as I put the beam over my shoulder and casually made my way back to the scene of the conflict. It was all I could do not to start whistling.
    When I made it back to the other side, I discovered that the punks had tired of waiting for Derek and his people to come out. The substitute door was