I FALL TO my hands and knees in the gravel as my guitar case makes a dull twang sound landing next to me.
The pain in my back is excruciating, like I’ve just been struck with a bullwhip, and I find myself stunned for a moment, frozen on all fours. Afraid that another blow is going to come—this time against the back of my skull—I roll over and put an arm up in defense.
Three figures—all wielding some kind of weapon—crowd in around me. There’s enough ambient street lighting for me to make out their faces in the darkness. Randy, the asshole I almost got in a fight with last night, stands at my feet holding the same broken pool stick he ran off with. His sober and sensible friend isn’t with him tonight, but he has two other companions, one holding a tire iron and the other a massive crescent wrench that must be at least two feet long.
“Remember me?” Randy says, smacking the stick against the palm of his hand.
“Randy, my old friend,” I say with fake enthusiasm. “I’m beginning to think your girlfriend did the right thing by dumping your ass.”
“You little shit,” he growls, stepping forward.
I back up, sliding on my butt through the gravel. I keep one arm up in case he takes a swing. Better a broken forearm than a broken skull.
As I scoot backward, I leave my guitar case behind, and one of the men gives it a hard kick, sending it skidding across the gravel.
“Not so tough now, huh?” Randy says, obviously enjoying the sight of me squirming away.
I’m trying to buy time.
I don’t have my gun. I’m outnumbered three to one. And they have weapons. The wrench and tire iron are more dangerous than the pool stick, so if Randy’s buddies are as willing to commit violence as he is, I could be in serious trouble.
I can think of only one thing to do.
“I’ll give you money,” I say, reaching into my pockets. “I’ve got three hundred dollars on me. That’s a Benjamin for each of you.”
I can see that Randy’s friends like the idea of getting paid. Why assault someone for free when you can not assault someone and make a hundred bucks?
But Randy isn’t interested. “How about we just beat the shit out of you and take the money?”
From the nodding faces of his friends, I can concede that he’s made a good counterargument.
I keep scooting backward. We’re probably thirty feet from the bar entrance now. Inside my pocket, my hand fumbles for my keys, trying to find the fob for my truck and remember which button does what.
“You know I’m a Texas Ranger?” I say, trying to buy myself a few more seconds.
“You made that clear last night.”
“Which means you can’t just beat the shit out of me,” I say. “You’re going to have to kill me. Otherwise, I’ll identify you and you’ll go to jail for assaulting an officer. Murder is your only option unless you stop right now.”
Randy’s buddies don’t look too happy about this news—apparently they hadn’t thought this through—but Randy doesn’t seem fazed by it.
“That’s the idea,” he says. “I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to go to my ex’s house and—”
He stops talking when the alarm on my truck sounds. The headlights and brake lights flash like the Fourth of July.
I only hope it’s loud enough for Carlos to hear inside.
“Oops,” I say, pulling my keys out of my pocket. “I guess the three hundred dollars are in the other pocket.”
“You son of a bitch,” Randy barks, raising his stick.
The door of the bar bursts open and Carlos, Ava, and Marcos step out. When he sees what’s happening, Carlos shouts back into the bar, “Call 9-1-1!”
Then he runs toward the three men.
Ava and her fiancé follow, both ready to fight.
With Randy and his friends distracted by the three people racing toward them, I hop to my feet.
The trio of men don’t seem to know what to do, looking at each other for guidance. They’re still armed, but now they’re outnumbered. And with the truck alarm wailing into the night, what they probably thought would be a simple assault under the cover of darkness has turned into a chaotic scene for the whole world to see.
Randy hesitates for a second, then he chokes up on the stick like a batter getting ready for the pitch. His two friends look for a moment like they’re going to split, but they follow Randy’s lead and decide to take their chances.
“Come on!” Randy yells at my rescuers.
This guy must love to fight because he’s not going down without one.
I’ll give him a fight he won’t forget.