I pushed my chair back.
The scrape across the wooden floor killed Butch’s laughter.
I stood.
He had almost five inches and a hundred pounds on me.
Still, he stepped backward.
Only half a step.
But I saw it.
“You got something to say, GI Joe?”
I reached down and unclipped Rex’s leash.
Click.
Every face turned toward the sound.
“Rex. Place.”
He rose immediately, shook once, crossed to the wall, and sat.
Safely away from me.
Safely away from them.
Butch cracked his knuckles.
“You gonna cry about your dog?”
I stepped around the table.
“You made a mistake.”
He laughed, but less confidently.
“You and what army?”
“I don’t need an army.”
I stopped directly in front of him.
“Three minutes should be enough.”
Butch swung first.
A wide right hand.
Slow.
Telegraphed.
I moved inside it, caught his wrist with my left hand, and drove my right forearm against the joint.
Pop.
