The Edge

“Okay, nine it is. The restaurant is two blocks south of here, take a left on Hiram Silkwell Street.”

“Seriously?”

“Named after the man who was born and grew up here and made all that money.”

“Less than three hundred people now. What happened?”

“It’s always been a toy town. But outside the town line is our version of the burbs, where we have nearly four thousand people.”

“And your sister? Where can I see her?”

“She’s usually home.”

“I need her phone number. I’d like to set something up.”

Dak gave it to him but added, “She doesn’t usually answer, particularly if she doesn’t know who’s calling.”

He handed Dak a card. “Here’s my number. Then you can tell her to answer when I call.”

“Alex doesn’t follow orders and usually not advice, either.”

“I’m persistent. I understand she’s quite an artist.”

“Says who?” asked Dak.

“So, she’s not a good artist?”

“No, she’s good. Better than good, actually. But her taste is... eclectic. And she only parts with a piece when she really needs the money.”

“Big house. You’d think she’d really need the money a lot.”

“I do well at the tattoo parlor. And I make good money off my investments. Okay, I’m not in Hiram Silkwell’s league. But give me time.”

“I saw your father,” Devine told him.

Now came the first hint of strong emotion on Dak’s expressive face. “He’s not doing well,” he said.

“You’re in the loop on all that?”

Dak nodded. “I’ve been down to see him. Go as often as I can. He say anything to you?”

“He wasn’t really awake.”

“They say he doesn’t have long.”

“A warrior deserves a better exit,” said Devine.

Dak tapped his surprisingly delicate fingers against his empty beer mug. They also looked to have been manicured. Devine looked down at his own ragged ones and frowned.

“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” replied Dak.

“You disagree?”

“His military days were pretty much over when I came along. But then he got into politics. He wasn’t around much.”

Devine decided to go there. “But you suited up. Wore the Army green.”

Dak eyed him. “Yeah, it was a lotta fun.” He dropped some cash for the beers and rose. “I’m beat. Gotta get going.”

“You need a lift?”

“Nah. Got my Harley. Love that thing.”

Devine watched him every step of the way. He was seriously thinking of following him home when he spotted three large men, pool sticks in hand, staring dead at him.

When Devine left, so did they. The sounds of what might have been Dak’s Harley soared off into the night, leaving him alone with his three new Maine besties.

Wonderful way to end a long unproductive day.

Chapter 11

The body will not go where the mind has not been.

That was why most people were victims, Devine knew. They could not imagine themselves grievously injuring or killing someone else, for any reason, even in order to save their own lives. So they wasted time in attempting to flee or in pleading for mercy to men who had none to give.

Show a picture of someone attacking someone else and ask for a reaction, and 99 percent of the people will say they would be in fear of their life if that happened to them. The other 1 percent, the criminal element, have a different reaction. They will say, “I’d hit them harder.” This was because they never saw themselves as the victim, only the predator. Their minds have been there, and so their bodies were ready, willing, and able to go there too.

Yet all humans were built to be predators. Sharp, strong teeth, forward eyes that were far more efficient for hunting, opposable thumbs, and, most of all, the best brain of any animal.

And we all possess a latent primal ability to fight to the death.

Devine walked toward his Tahoe even as he heard the men follow. When he reached it he turned and faced them. They looked angry and puffed up. That was all he needed to know both of their intent and their being afraid of him. The ones Devine always worried about were not the giant red-faced screamers; they were secretly shitting their pants. It was the quiet, stone-faced scrawny guys that would suddenly gut you with a shiv or pop a bullet into your brain and walk, not run, away, disappearing into the night to do it again when someone else was stupid enough to underestimate them.

His senses did the preliminary calculation and ran it through the combat computer under his skull. Walking away from a fight, if you could do so safely, was usually the best answer. Looking at the three men, Devine knew that was not going to be an option. Unless he did something creative. And he didn’t want to fight them. Not because he knew he would lose; it was because he was certain he would win, and didn’t want to unnecessarily injure them.

And he was also wondering why they had decided to come after him in the first place.

“Can I help you?” he said.

The biggest one said, “Yeah, dude, you can get out of town. That’d be a good start.” He looked at his friends and grinned.