Hogg started in after her. There was blood on her face. He stepped around a spool of green hose. “Lady, first we’re gonna hurt you. Then we’re gonna fuck you. Then we’re gonna hurt you some more.”

“And maybe,” the nigger said, “we’ll fuck you some more, too.”

Her hand, flapping back behind her, hit the counter; she grabbed for the shotgun.

But I guess the wop saw it before I did; he was already there, yanking it away from her before she could get it up; I thought he was going to shoot her from the hip like I saw once in a western on TV. But he just whapped the side of the barrel against her belly. But hard. She banged into the counter again. One eye was puffed and her cheek was bruised dark as a coal smear. She came away from the counter, hissing: “… you come here for that goddamn bastard, Jimmy! You’re here for Jimmy, aren’t you? Well, I don’t want none of Jimmy’s shit no more, goddamn it! You sons of bitches get out of my place and tell Jimmy I don’t give a fuck what he—”

The wop whapped her again.

Then the girl none of us had seen, sitting in the back doorway, screamed, darting forward from the shadow; metal spokes glittered at her side, till her hands clamped the rubber rims. For a moment I thought she was going to propel the chair back into the darkness.

“Oh, shit now,” Dago said. “She’s about as cute a piece of pussy as my old lady!”

“Goddamn it, you leave her alone! If Jimmy’s got any business, he’s got it with me—”

Nigg’s shoulders jerked with the chain’s swing. His lips were back and his tongue made a peppery bulge between his teeth.

The woman staggered without a sound.

Chain flailed back the other way.

The woman went down on her knees, holding her head with both hands.

The wop took a breath, opened the rifle, saw there were no shells in it, laughed, and started to lean it against the counter; when suddenly the chair shot forward.

With sweeping strokes, the girl sent it around the pyramid of paint cans. She barreled toward Hogg, who turned, said, “Huh—?” and started back. If she’d crashed full into him, he would have been ready. But, at the last moment, she clamped her hand on one wheel so that the chair spun; the two ten-inch handles off the back—the rubber had worn half off one—raked his belly, just over his groin.

Teeth gritted back over her shoulder, the girl sent herself back into him, hard. Hogg grabbed himself and staggered.

The chair went forward again.

Hogg lunged for it and missed, going down on one knee.

“Goddamn …!” the wop said, then ducked. The paint tin hit his head anyway. “Damn—!” He moved back.