Cash drives his fist into Baseball Cap’s face. Since there’s no music now, and since everyone in the bar is silent, watching the drama play out, there’s no mistaking the sickening crunch of cartilage.
Baseball Cap howls as blood surges from his nose to cover his lips.
A smart man would know when to say when. But I think we’ve already established that Baseball Cap is not a smart man. He takes two more wild swings. Cash easily ducks the first, but the second has my worst fear coming true.
Baseball Cap lands a teeth-clacking blow to the side of Cash’s head, directly over the angry scar above his temple. Cash staggers, and it’s enough to make my lungs feel like they’ve collapsed.
Thankfully, he’s dazed only for a second. He shakes off the punch, and the next thing I know, he has Baseball Cap by the collar and is shoving him through the side door.
“Cash!” I holler again, scrambling over the bar.
Luc and I make it to the side door at the same time. When we push through, I see Cash in the street. He’s sitting atop Baseball Cap, his knees planted on the guy’s arms, pinning them down, his hands around the man’s throat.
“You stupid motherfucker!” he yells, his lips peeled back in a dreadful snarl. “Don’t you know how precious life is? You should be cherishing each breath instead of being an asshole and calling people names!”
“Cash! Stop it!” I skid to a stop beside him.
Baseball Cap’s eyes are bulging out of his head. In the light of the streetlamps, the blood on the lower half of his face is bright crimson, but the rest of his complexion has turned purple.
“Call the police!” someone screams. “He’s going to kill him!”
“Cash!” I grab his shoulder. “Stop it now! You hear me?Cash! Stop it!”
He doesn’t budge. Not even when I give him a good yank.
“Cash?” Luc squats beside the struggling men. Baseball Cap’s hat has fallen off, and his feet are scrabbling ineffectually against the pavement as his hips buck wildly. “You really wanna kill this asshole? You think he’s worth it?”
I almost scream. Now is not the time for calm, rational discourse. Now is the time for him to grab Cash and haul him off the guy!
Cash blinks as if he’s coming out of a trance. He looks at Luc, then glances down at Baseball Cap. Next thing I know, he’s jumping up and scrambling away.
Huh. I guess calm, rational discoursewasthe way to handle the situation.
Stumbling over to the curb, Cash plops down and holds his head in his hands. I start to follow him, but Luc is already there, throwing an arm around his shoulders and whispering something in his ear.
Cash nods, and I release a shuddering breath. He’s shaken, but otherwise appears to be okay. Turning my attention to Baseball Cap, I try to hide my revulsion as I offer a hand to help him up.
The sound of sirens echoes down the block. By the time I wrestle Baseball Cap out of the street and onto the curb, the French Quarter Task Force—a private policing group started by some rich guy—has arrived on the scene in their black, tactical vehicle that looks like a cross between a four-wheeler and a Jeep.
Baseball Cap is rubbing his throat and sucking in great gobs of air through his mouth since his nose is ruined.
“Got a call there’s been an altercation.”
“Hey, Rory.” I sigh deeply.
Rory Ketchum is one of the off-duty police officers who moonlights for the task force to supplement his pay. I know him because his wife, Jackie, and I went to Tulane together.
Besides being a stand-up guy, Rory treats Jackie like a queen and their two little girls like princesses. In that way, he reminds me of my dad. But I’ve had to deal with him in an official capacity only once. It was last year when two women from New York got in a catfight inside my bar and went flying through the front window.
Don’t worry. The window was open, so it’s not like they broke through plate glass or anything. But they did land in a heap on the sidewalk, which resulted in one of the ladies suffering a broken collarbone.
“Well, hey there, Maggie.” Rory props his hands on his gear belt. The thing holds pepper spray and handcuffs, a stun gun, and a big flashlight. “It’s always good to see you, but I suspect now is one of those times you’d rather not be seeingme. What seems to be the problem here?” He motions to Baseball Cap’s leaking nose.
“That sonofabitch tried to strangle me!” Baseball Cap throws out his arm to point at Cash.
“That’s not exactly how it happened.” I fill Rory in on the sequence of events, starting with the drunkenness, the name-calling, etcetera. I finish with, “And then he hit Cash in the head.” I point toward Cash. “Who, by the way, is a Green Beret who recently suffered a head injury in the line of duty.”
I add that last part because…cops and soldiers. They have a mutual respect for one another. Comes from sharing careers that put them in harm’s way.
