Bo fell to his knees and saw his cousin’s boot coming at him again, this time connecting with his solar plexus. The air went out of his stomach, and he struggled for breath. Then he was getting picked up and thrown again, this time over Booker T.’s shoulder. The big man hauled him a few steps and, without warning, slung him into a trash bin adjacent to the barn.

“That where you belong.”

Bo gasped for air inside the almost empty receptacle. The strong aroma of spoiled meat hit his nostrils, and he gagged, making it even harder to catch his wind. He heard a thud, and the side of the can was dented from another kick from Booker T.

“Ignoring me for over a year. Leaving me when I needed you most and taking care of some white man’s stuff.” Another thud and Bo heard the sound of plastic crunching, as the trash bin began to cave in. Then he was moving as the can was tilted over on its side. The air went out of him again.

Booker T. was now kicking the can over and over again, causing it to roll like a barrel. The world was spinning as Bo bounced against the sides of the bin, the dented-in portion wedging into his rib cage and causing him to howl in pain.

“How does that feel, Bocephus? You enjoying this ass beating? If anyone ever deserved—?”

And then his voice drowned out like someone had turned off the TV.

For several seconds, Bo blinked his eyes and tried to steady himself. He started to say something, but then he heard his cousin’s voice again. “Keep your mouth shut, Bo. Don’t talk. Don’t move.”

Bo thought he heard the sound of wheels on gravel and then the thud of car doors opening and closing. He crawled to the edge of the trash bin, but the can was facing the barn, and he couldn’t see what was going on. He heard the crunching of feet on gravel. Multiple feet and likely different shoe types. And finally, a voice.

“You alone, Rowe?” The accent was either Irish or Boston or perhaps a mixture of both.

“Yeah.”

“Where’s the wife and kids?”

“Gone,” Booker T. said.

“Gone on vacation or gone for good?”

A pause. “That’s none of your damn business,” Booker T. said.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I hope your money troubles aren’t impacting your family life.”

There was no response, and Bo felt his heartbeat begin to pick up. The dizziness had subsided, and he listened hard.

“You’re trespassing again,” the other man finally added when Booker T. hadn’t said anything.

“I need some more time.”