The kid smiled. “Oh, just me, granddad. But I tell you what, just so’s my kicking your ass won’t be over too fast, I’ll only use one hand.” He gave a little jab and Stone darted his head out of the way.

“Oh, looky here, pops can dance. You a good dancer, pops?” The kid suddenly kicked at Stone, who seized the leg and held on to it with an iron grip.

Beefy’s face now turned scarlet as he hopped around on one leg. “Let me go, or I’m gonna hurt you bad. Let me go!”

“You get one more chance,” Stone said.

The kid swung a fist out. And missed.

Stone’s elbow to the side of his head didn’t. Neither did the blow to the nose, with the kid’s bone breaking on impact. The punk crumpled to the floor moaning and twitching.

The other two dropped the quarterback and started forward. One fell like he’d been axe-cleaved when Stone’s foot smashed his crotch and then collided with his head. The other never saw the fist slam into his gut and then shoot up and crush his chin. He ended up on the floor of the train car next to his friends, holding his stomach and his face.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Stone turned to see the rotund conductor racing down the aisle, walkie-talkie and ticket puncher in hand and his Amtrak cap bouncing on his head.

Before Stone could say anything one of the punks he’d laid out yelled, “He attacked us.”

The other passengers immediately started talking, telling their version of what had happened, but it all came out pretty garbled.

The harried train conductor looked over the mess of bodies on the floor, then turned to Stone and said, “You’re the only one left standing. So did you hit these men?”

“After they attacked me. They said they caught that one cheating at cards,” Stone said, pointing to the “glory days” kid who sat on the floor holding his bloody nose. “They wouldn’t stop pounding the crap out of him and then they came after me.” He pointed to the crowded floor. “You can see it didn’t turn out the way they probably intended.”

“Okay, let me see some ID,” the conductor said.

“What about their IDs? I’m just the Good Samaritan. Ask any of these folks.”

“That may well be. But I’m starting with you and I’ll work my way through all of them. How’s that for a plan?”

Stone didn’t want to give the man his ID, because he knew if he did it would end up in an official record somewhere that the folks coming for him might be able to find and use. Besides it was a fake ID and wouldn’t pass muster under a database check.