“I thought so,” Rimae said grimly. “Wickie, what the hell are you still doing here?”
Not waiting for an answer, she went on, “Kevin, have you got a truck to haul this thing in?”
Kevin, still blinking, grinned evilly at Wickie. “Sure do, ma’am.” Turning, he waved in some of the boys. One of them got into a pickup and drove it up to the back door of the bar.
“Rimae, you can’t sell to these kids,” Sam said. The whole group had gathered near the door. “You know what’s going to happen.” They were watching, their mood still light; but Sam knew it could turn ugly in an instant, and he was wary.
“I don’t sell liquor to kids,” Rimae said sharply. “Kevin’s nineteen. He’s of age. I told you to get the hell out of here, Wickie. And I think you’d better start packing up your things, too.”
Kevin chortled and counted out the money, stooping to pick up stray nickels and quarters that fell to the ground. A set of burly kids—the football team, Sam was willing to bet—followed Rimae into the bar and came out again a few minutes later with a large cask mounted on rollers. Sam reached out and grabbed Bethica by the arm, pulling her away as the boys loaded the cask into a cradle in the bed of the truck.
“Bethica, don’t do it,” he whispered fiercely. “Don’t go. You know what happens when they get drunk.”
“Yeah, and it isn’t any worse than what happens when you get drunk,” she said, pulling away. Rimae, having supervised the loading, had gone back inside.
“Hey, Bethica, you got a new boyfriend?” one of the girls mocked.
Kevin came back around the end of the truck. “What the hell? Get your hands off her.”
“I’m trying to—”
“Sam. You’re trying to be rational again. Rational doesn’t work. I keep telling you that—”
“Leave him alone, Kevin—”
“I’m getting sick of you!”
Before Sam could figure out what was going on, he’d been pulled, pushed, shoved, and crowded to the other end of the parking lot, within the circle of light from the street lamp, and was standing in the middle of a circle of wild¬eyed teenagers.
“You jerks,” Al was saying bitterly. “Ziggy, give me a reading on this—oh, terrific. Sam, Ziggy says you’re about to get beaten to a pulp.”
“Wonderful,” Sam muttered.
“The plan isn’t working, Sam—”
Sam tuned him out, reaching inside himself for the calm place he needed to handle physical confrontation. He could see the faces in the circle around him, with expressions of hunger and excitement and sheer bloodlust, eyes bright, mouths slightly open, panting. Slightly behind the ring stood Bethica, the back of one hand held to her mouth, her eyes wide too, but with a different expression.
Before him, less than six feet away, Kevin, standing well balanced, smiling at him. Kevin wasn’t going to let him walk away or talk his way out of a fight. He was looking forward to inflicting pain. He’d been looking forward to it for days, ever since Sam had embarrassed him in front of his friends; now he was going to erase that.
And he was going to erase Wickie too, if possible. If Bethica was supposed to go to the party to talk Kevin out
of trying to kill Wickie, maybe this would get it out of his system. If that was the case, maybe he could fight, lose, and Leap.
Al was still studying the handlink, talking to Ziggy, and reading out information. Sam continued to ignore him and watch Kevin, who was leaning forward slightly.
Most truly serious fights, in Sam’s experience, lasted less than a minute. When someone who knew what he was doing intentionally tried to put someone else down, it didn’t take long.
Kevin might or might not know what he was doing, but he wasn’t trying to put Wickie down, at least not right away. He reached out and flicked Sam on the face so quickly Sam barely had time to jerk back. But then Kevin laughed and looked around for his friends’ approbation, and that told Sam a great deal all by itself.
Sam contemplated finishing this mess quickly and getting back to Wickie’s cabin. He hoped Rimae would change her mind; he’d hate to think he would Leap out and Wickie would return to his own body only to find himself unem-ployed. On the other hand, he certainly wasn’t going to damage the kid, and if he didn’t, Kevin would lose face, and then he’d .. .
While he was still thinking, Kevin spun around and planted a fist in his gut, propelling Sam back against the circle of spectators. They made a sound like wolves scenting blood. He barely heard it. He was too busy catching his breath.
He must give consideration to an alternative scenario, he thought dizzily as Kevin followed up with another fist to his gut. Maybe he should just let the kid win.
The second blow wasn’t quite as bad as the first one, mostly because he was farther away. He struggled to get his balance back.
“Sam, are you waiting for just the right moment?” Al asked acerbically. “Because I think it was about five minutes ago. ”
“You’re no help,” Sam muttered
Kevin looked momentarily confused, then stepped in to slug Sam in the jaw. If he could have gotten his breath back,
Sam would have told him that was an extremely bad idea; fragile as the human mandible is, the human hand with all its tiny bones and network of nerve tissue is considerably more so. He didn’t want Kevin to damage his hand, particularly not on Wickie’s jaw. So he spun around and kicked his opponent’s feet out from under him.
Both combatants went sprawling. The audience laughed.
Kevin was stunned. And furious.
By the time he was back on his feet, Sam was too. If he didn’t breathe too deeply, he was okay. Balancing himself, he watched the boy warily.
