Page 33 of Rough

He raised his hands as if prepared to fight. Naturally, Beard followed.

Crip swung a straight right into Beard’s chin, knocking him backward a few steps. “That was for being disrespectful. And this…”

While Beard was stumbling to catch his footing, Crip swung a ferocious roundhouse kick with his right foot. The side of his boot slammed against beard’s cheek, and drove him to the floor.

“…is for even thinking about pulling that pistol on me.”

As Beard struggled to push himself up from the floor, undoubtedly attempting to hold onto a little slice of pride, Crip stomped his heel into the man’s skull, smashing his face into the hardwood floor.

“And that’s for claiming territory that you didn’t earn.”

Blood splattered from his mouth and he went limp.

“Toss his ass in the parking lot,” Crip growled. “Before I decide to piss on him.”

Cholo grabbed the man’s boots and dragged him toward the door. Crip turned toward the bar and nodded. “Good lookin’ out, Pete.”

“Any time, Nick.”

“Bar rag for this blood?” Crip asked.

“I’ll get it,” Pete said.

Half of the men had left as soon as they walked outside, and the remaining few waited for their battered president to regain his senses. Ten minutes after the first group pulled away, the sound of the rumbling exhaust gave warning that the others were on their way out.

As Pete cleaned the blood from the floor, I peered through the window. After the taillights of the last bike faded away, I turned toward Crip.

“They’re gone.”

“That fucker I busted up make it?”

“Guess so.”

“You guess so? God damn it Peeb, look out there on the lot. I don’t want any surprises when we stroll through that door. Hell, he might be laying where Cholo left his dumb ass.”

I crouched down and looked to my right. The lot was empty.

I looked to the left.

Crip’s and Cholo’s bikes were still sitting upright, but the Sporty was laying on its side.

“God damn pricks,” I said through my teeth.

Crip spun around. “What?”

“They kicked over the Sporty.”

“No shit?”

“Yep.” I headed for the door. “But yours and Cholo’s are still on their kickstands.”

“You parked in the middle,” he said with a laugh.

I pressed my hand against the door. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“If the one in the middle’s tipped over, the other two aren’t, I wasn’t an accident. It was intentional.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Looks like a hate crime.”

“Against big mean fuckers?”