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could get his wits or his feet back, she had the gun again, and this time, standing over him, she cocked it.
     
    “Mine’s bigger, bitch,” Demon snarled from behind Muse. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Demon had drawn his Glock. Muse sighed. So much for defusing the situation. He should have taken a couple more minutes to try to talk her out of that gun.
     
    From his new seat on the sidewalk, he said, “Okay. Seeing as I’m the only one on the street of sound mind just now, how about you both listen to me and put the fucking guns down .” Nobody moved. So he looked up at the pretty girl pointing a gun at his head and said, “Have you ever shot anybody, hon? Are you really prepared to take me out? Because if you are, and if you do, my friend will do you the same. But if you’re not, then let’s all calm down and talk instead.” He stood up, and she took two steps backward, letting the gun sag to her side.
     
    He took the gun out of her hand and emptied it.
     
    Now she only looked frightened. She took another step backward, and Muse reached out and grabbed her arm. He couldn’t let her go until he was sure this whole scene wasn’t going to explode in their faces later.
     
    She pulled, and he held, trying to be gentle. “Please, just let me go inside. Don’t hurt me.”
     
    “Just want to talk. Not gonna hurt you.”
     
    Her head pivoted to Demon, who was still drawn on her.
     
    “Deme—get the fuck outta here. Go back to Bibi. I got this.”
     
    “I want my boy, Muse. I’m not leaving without my boy.”
     
    Muse was tired, he was tense, and now his head hurt. He was fucking pissed. “Asshole, Tucker’s not here. You want a shot at even seeing him, then you let me clean up your mess. Get the fuck OUT.”
     
    Again, Demon faltered, sense obviously giving a mighty struggle to clear a path through a tangle of fury and desperation. “I gotta get him outta there, brother. He can’t grow up like that.”
     
    “So you want him to grow up sitting in his own filth, with his mother passed out in her oatmeal?”
     
    Muse groaned. The little chick was not making this easy. “Shut up, hon.”
     
    Demon, though, hadn’t ramped up at that. Instead, he just stared at her. For a moment, the scene was static. And then he said, “You people are the ones who said she was better than me. I wouldn’t let that shit happen to him. But you won’t believe me.”
     
    “Deme, go on. Get out. Let me make this right. C’mon, brother. People are gonna start waking up soon. We need to get off the street.”
     
    Finally, Demon nodded. He shoved his Glock into his waistband, under his kutte, mounted his bike, and strapped on his helmet, all the while staring at the social worker still in Muse’s grip. He fired it up and rode out, and Muse allowed himself to relax a fraction. Then he turned back to the girl and tried out a smile.
     
    “Okay—that’s better, right?”
     
    “Do you have a gun in your pants, too?”
     
    He grinned. “No, ma’am, I do not.” Lifting her now-empty .38, he added, “Just this one here, and it’s harmless now. I don’t suppose you’d invite me in for a cup of coffee? Seems like we could both use one.”
     
    She blinked up at him, seeming to come back to her senses. “You’re asking me to let you into my house after all this? And serve you coffee?”
     
    Her arm was still in his hand, but she wasn’t fighting him to free herself anymore. He spoke calmly. “I was the only one not armed. I’m the one who settled everybody down. I’m the only one who didn’t point a gun at anybody’s head. If you think about it, I’m the one taking a risk, asking to go into your house unarmed. Who knows what kind of crazy shit you got in there. All I know, I could end up in a meat pie for your lunch.”
     
    She almost smiled.
     
    “I can’t go until we talk, hon. You made things hard enough on my friend yesterday. I need to make sure we’re okay, so things