“I’m trying to keep the peace!” Nick snapped, but there was no conviction in it. “If you start a war, people will get hurt. I’ve got a department of two guys and a gas budget that barely covers the week. What am I supposed to do against a small army?”
“Thirty guys, you said,” Mike mused, nodding. “Thanks for the intel, Nick. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’re not listening!” Nick stepped forward. “I’m telling you to leave! Apologize, pay the ‘fine’ for the fight, and maybe he’ll let you go. Save yourself.”
“Go on, Nick,” Mike said quietly. “Go back to town. I’m not leaving my home. I’m going to clean this place up. Just try to stay out of the way.”
Nick stood there for a moment, then shook his head, got back in his cruiser, and drove off. Mike watched him go. He was on his own. No law, no backup. Just him and his training.
Mike decided that sitting on the porch waiting for them to come back was a losing strategy. He needed to take the initiative. He changed into some dark work clothes and walked into town. He needed to see the enemy’s layout.
The local grocery store was the hub of Clear Creek. Mike walked in. Behind the counter was Mrs. Gable, a woman who had known him since he was in diapers.
“Mike!” she gasped, her hands flying to her face. “My goodness, you’ve grown. But your eyes… they look like you’ve seen too much.”
Mike gave her a small, tight smile. He bought some basic supplies—bread, coffee, some canned goods.
As he was paying, the door swung open and two guys in tracksuits walked in like they owned the place. They pushed past an elderly woman, nearly knocking her over, and headed straight for the counter.
“Hey, Gable. Give us two cartons of Marlboros and three bottles of the good bourbon. Butch is thirsty tonight. And throw in some of that expensive jerky,” one of them barked.
“Gentlemen, there’s a line,” Mrs. Gable said timidly.
“We don’t do lines, sweetheart. Just bag it up. Butch doesn’t like to wait,” the second one said, reaching over the counter to grab the items himself. He didn’t even reach for his wallet. Mrs. Gable stood there, her eyes welling with tears of frustration.
Mike set his groceries down carefully.
“Put it back,” Mike said. The store went dead silent.
The thug holding the bourbon froze. He turned slowly, a smirk forming on his face.
“What did you say, old man?”
