The punk back at the construction site was fortunate that Rogers had somehow

managed to walk away with sarcastic words instead of a lethal jab.

 

It had been a little thing, certainly.

 

But it had felt empowering nonetheless.

 

That was why he had smiled.

 

I can exercise some control. I don’t have to strike every time. I can walk away.

 

In prison, after his encounter with the men who wanted to force their will on

him, Rogers had been placed in a cell by himself. Better that he be completely

alone, for none of the guards wanted to have to intervene in another fight

involving Paul Rogers.

 

Thus there was no one to antagonize him. No one to bring out the monster that

lurked just under his skin.

 

But as Rogers closed his eyes for the night, his thoughts held on that young man

just recently arrived in this country with another name and a far different

ambition for his life. A nice young man. A young man with a future, one would

say.