Rogers turned to the other men. “I’m telling you guys to take your buddy out of

here before something unfortunate happens.” The men all laughed. “You sound like

a lawyer, dude,” said the black guy. “I’m nothing like a lawyer.” “How ’bout a

doctor, then?” said the man who’d taken the swing.

 

Rogers turned to him. “I’m not following.” “Then you can heal yourself,

asshole!” He swung again, only this time Rogers didn’t move. He stood his ground

and, as he had done with Karl, clenched the man’s fist. But he didn’t just grip,

he twisted and then jerked downward.

 

The man screamed and dropped to the pavement clutching his injured arm. “You

broke my fuckin’ wrist,” he wailed.

 

Rogers raised a fist to deliver a blow to the head that would have almost

certainly killed the man. The spot on his head was burning like somebody had set

it on fire with an acetylene torch.

 

No. Don’t do it. Don’t do it! “Hey, man, come on, back off!” Rogers stared up at

the black guy. “You proved your point, dude, okay?” Rogers let go of the wrist

and took a step back.

 

Instantly, on a sign from the black guy, two of the other men stepped up to take

their shot.

 

Rogers didn’t wait for either of them to take a swing. He grabbed the shirt of