“This is a very delicate matter.” Anthony was so intense that it was hard for Michael to look him in the eye. He gave Michael that feeling you get when you meet a street dog for the first time. It might act like it wants you to pet it, but as soon as you do, it bites your hand off.

“First, Michael, I want to tell you a story.”

“I don’t want to hear your story. I really don’t.” Michael hated it when adults started conversations like this. He’d heard plenty of inspiring life stories from teachers, guidance counselors, social workers, ministers. Anthony wasn’t there because he wanted to shoot the shit. He wanted something. But what?

“Just indulge me for a moment, would you? Maureen…” Anthony said. He cleared his throat. “You like her?”

“Sure,” Michael said. He did like Maureen. He liked her very much. He could picture her in her tennis dress, offering him cookies, asking if he needed something to drink.

“Maureen is not my first wife.”

“So? What’s your room number? I should get Ann. We should go home.”

“Stay right there.” Anthony’s tone was forceful, threatening. He practically pinned Michael to his chair with his black eyes.

“See, I’m like you. I grew up with nothing. We actually have a lot in common. We’re scrappy. Scrappy is good, it means we’ve got fight. I see fight in you. Or I should say, I recognize it.” He pointed two of his fingers at himself, then at Michael and back at himself for emphasis. “There’s a difference, you know, between seeing something and recognizing that it’s there.”

“I have no idea what you are saying.”

“Someday you will. Straight out of high school I got a job at the mine where my dad worked.”

Michael stood up. “I said I want to see Ann.”