A beer was raised out of the black corner of the bar as I walked in. I took my time getting to the back booth, sat down, and waited as he sipped at the beer held in his calloused hands. He said something about the Bruins then gulped the last swill of his beer and slammed both the pint glass and his open hand on the table as he rose from it. I dutifully followed him as a path cleared before us in the crowded bar to the door.
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He pushed out into the chill of the night and as the door thudded behind me he asked, “Are you up to it, really?” I nodded. “And have you got your friend with you?” I took a step ahead and lifted the back of my shirt to reveal the taped grip of a .38. “Good… good.”