Rogers reached a hand up, effortlessly peeled the man’s fingers away from his

throat, stood, and turned. He planted a vise grip on the man’s wrist, spun him

around, and torqued the arm up so high that the man’s shoulder popped out of

joint. He fell to the floor howling in pain.

 

Rogers put some cash down on the table. “You ready to go?” he asked Davis.

 

She looked up at him openmouthed and nodded.

 

Rogers had seen the lady at the cash register phoning what he knew was the

police. He did not want to be here when they arrived.

 

Some of the customers, mostly elderly folks, clapped in appreciation as they

passed by.

 

They reached the van and got in. Rogers put it in gear and sped out of the

parking lot. “That was freaking amazing,” gushed Davis. “Where did you learn to

do that?” “School of hard knocks, I guess.” “What’s your name again?” “Paul.”

“Paul what?” “Just Paul.” She sat back and looked out the windshield. “I did

know that guy.” “Okay.” “I sort of make bad choices with men.” “You wouldn’t be

the first.” “Where do you come from?” she asked.

 

He shot her a glance. “What, family, you mean?” “Whatever you want it to mean.”

“Then I don’t come from anywhere. I’m just…here. I’ve got nobody. Just myself.”