The teen postured, spreading his arms at his sides, puffing out his chest, and leaning his upper body toward Conor rooster-fashion. “Guy across the street says he saw a gray dog come down this alley.”

“So?”

The kid’s attention drifted up the stairwell and landed on the door to Conor’s apartment. Under the roof overhang, the steps were dry. Red spots dotted the wood. “You got blood on your hand.”

“Rough night.” Conor took a step forward.

“I don’t let people take what’s mine.” The kid hesitated, obviously surprised when Conor didn’t back off. The teen couldn’t be from the neighborhood or he’d have known better.

“Look, kid. This isn’t a good idea,” Conor said.

“That’s not the way I see it.” The kid shook water from his face. “I want my dog, and you’re a fucking liar.” He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked his wrist. The blade clicked open, the metal shining in the yellow light.

Tonight it seemed stupidity and youth were eternal soul mates.

“You’re making a mistake.” Conor raised his open hands in front of his chest. Talk about idiotic. He’d done some ridiculous things in his life, but risking a knife in the gut for a dog had to top the list.

“Fuck you. You’re the one making a mistake, stealing my dog. I’m gonna cut you. Then I’m going upstairs to see your old lady.” He made a thrusting motion with his pelvis. The kid couldn’t have been more than fifteen, and his baby face made the gesture more vulgar.

He lunged with the knife, right at Conor’s face. Expecting a chest or belly attack, Conor’s parry was a fraction of a second slow. The knife point grazed his cheek as he jerked his head out of the way. He grabbed the kid’s wrist and twisted it backward. Then he plowed a hard right cross into the teen’s nose. The kid’s head snapped back. He dropped the blade and ass-planted in a puddle. Blood spurted from his nose and soaked the front of his white tank.

Conor shook his hand. His already-bruised knuckles smarted, he had spatters of blood on his shirt, and his face stung. “Get out of here. Next time I see you, I’m calling the cops.”

“You’ll be sorry for that.” Holding one hand to his face, the kid snatched his knife from the pavement and got to his feet. “I’m not afraid of the fucking cops. I’ll be back.”

“What you need to do is go home, ice your face, and reevaluate your life.”