Ronnie stepped out into the alley, making sure to close the door behind him—but not too fast, and making as little noise as possible. Not that anyone could hear it over the loud music from the jukebox.

Jimmy’s dad was at the far end of the alley, half in shadow, sitting on a crate that was just barely outside the glow of light from a single bare bulb hanging over another door across from the back of the bar. He was smoking a cigarette and humming to himself.

It wasn’t until Ronnie was closer that he realized what song the man was humming, and when he did realize what song it was, the burning fury that had been roiling in his stomach and chest all day long became suddenly cool, comforting, almost peaceful.

“What song is that?” asked Ronnie as he came a little closer.

“What? Who’s—? Oh, hey, it’s you. The song? I dunno. Some goddamned Beatles’ song my shit-for-brains kid used to sing to himself.” And then he laughed.

It was the “…used to…” and the laugh that did it. Ronnie dropped the second object he’d taken from inside the bar and wrapped both his hands around the skinny end of the pool cue, pulling back like a baseball player at home plate readying to take a swing. “Hey, Slugger.”

Jimmy’s dad had crushed out his first smoke and was lighting another. “Yeah…?” he turned and saw the raised pool cue. “Hey—what the fuck you doin’ with that?”

“Jimmy wasn’t dead when you left him in the alley.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed for a moment, and then grew wide as he jumped to his feet and raised his arm to ward off the oncoming blow, but that was exactly what Ronnie wanted him to do because instead of swinging down, Ronnie faked to the side and then swung upward with all he had, smashing the fat end of the cue right into the center of Stiles’ Adam’s apple and enjoying both the sound it made and the look of shock that froze Stiles’ face into an expression of complete and utter terror.

“You know what? He loved you, Jimmy did. He really loved you and your wife. Is she really dead?”

Stiles tried to make a sound but all that emerged was a soft, wet, strained gurgling noise. He staggered forward, both hands now clutching at his throat, then dropped to his knees.

Ronnie flipped the pool cue around so that he was now gripping the fat end. He didn’t speak again for the rest of it.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled back the cue, got his footing, and then ran forward like those knights always did in the movies when they were having a jousting battle. The business end of the cue went straight through Stiles’ left eye and pushed another inch or so into his skull before the man fell back. Once he was on the ground, it was easy for Ronnie to just stand on the man’s chest and put all of his weight into pushing the cue even deeper. It was a lot harder than he thought it would be, ramming the thing all the way through Stiles’ head, but Ronnie kept at it until he felt the end of the cue burst through the back of Stiles’ skull and hit alley-floor mud. Yanking the cue out of the bloody mess, Ronnie threw it aside and then retrieved the second item he’d taken from the bar.