The guy says, “Who you think you are, butting into my affairs? Know who my daddy is? The marshal. I don’t gotta take shit from some inked-up hillbilly. So go on, mind your own, you Harley-headed fuck.”

The wormy guy turns his back.

Hunter steps toward the dickhead, then feels Itch’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right,” Itch whispers. “He’s just an asshole, brother. No need to smash him here—plenty of time later, if need be.”

“I got your ‘asshole,’” Danny says without turning around. “Don’t make me warn you again.”

“I bet you do, ya little ferret,” says the woman, who has turned around now. “You’re the only asshole stinkin’ up the atmosphere in here.”

Danny steps in to the lady, raises his hand.

Hunter plays the situation out in his head. If he doesn’t react, the female gets slapped. Disrespected. Hunter needs to deescalate the situation. Hunter comes forward. Grabs Danny’s bony wrist, twisting him backward. Hearing a pop and crack, a little pain to get his attention. Change his mindset. The crack and pop float in the air like a drummer’s rim shot. Danny sags at the knees, his mouth opening. He whines like a preschooler whose toy the bully has taken away. He drops his cue and it clatters on the hard floor.

Hunter holds a firm and controlled grip, keeps the pressure on Danny’s wrist, kneels down with Danny, speaks loud and direct. “Dude! Let them hands take a rest. Think about your actions. They’ll have consequences. This is your lady, respect her.” And Hunter releases Danny’s wrist. Stands up. Danny pulls his hand to his chest, running a thumb over the skin like a wounded animal licking its wound. Angry-faced, heated. Danny sizes up Hunter and his buddies. Knowing he is outsized and outnumbered. Hunter holds Danny’s eyes until the anger deflates. Something in Danny changes and he looks to the ground. Pouts.

The woman stands with her cue in one hand, a Coors Light in the other, looking at Danny. “Yeah, little respect would be nice. Do as this man tells you,” she says. “And keep off me, ’cause you’re about as welcome as a turd in a punch bowl.” Taking a sip of her beer, she makes a face. “Warm as piss.” She says. And turns the bottle upside down on Danny’s head.

Still on his knees, Danny is drenched. Hunter shakes his head, smirks, “Karma.” Hunter offers a hand to Danny. “Come on, get up. Word of advice, it’d be in your best interest to play nice with your gal pal before she slaps the bad language out of your jowls.”