He looked stiff and in pain. A glass of whiskey was set in front of him. He had

on sunglasses. Still, Rogers knew the man was looking straight at him.

 

He stood there for a few moments staring back. He held no sympathy for the man.

Yet he was curious about how this was going to play out.

 

If Karl had simple revenge on his mind it would probably involve Rogers getting

jumped by a bunch of guys. He would probably beat them, but that wasn’t the

point. That would almost certainly invite a visit by the police. Rogers could

not afford that. A simple background check would send him right back to prison.

 

He made a decision.

 

He walked over to Karl and sat down across from him.

 

The man turned to gaze at him. Though his eyes were hidden by the shades, his

features evidenced surprise that Rogers had come over. Then he looked away, as

though determined not to play whatever game Rogers was up to. “I had an uncle

who told me something one time,” Rogers began. “Always stuck with me for some

reason.” Karl swiveled his head around to look at him once more. “And what was

that?” he said sharply. “There’s not a man alive who hasn’t had his ass kicked

at least once. And for most of them it was a woman who did the kicking.” For a

long moment Karl just stared at him. Then the big man burst out laughing. He

laughed so hard he choked, coughing and gasping.