A door opened and the current shifted, catching him off-balance. A heavy shoe clipped his ankle and he stumbled. He found his footing and swung around to face the offender. A strong hand gripped his arm, and he felt a three-fingered jab in a kidney. His back went into a spasm, and he thought he might fall to the floor. This was no accident; he had been attacked. Another pair of hands grabbed his other arm.

The frenzied crowd thinned momentarily, and Ted finally got a glimpse of his assailants. Ivan the Terrible and his pal—the Russian salt and pepper set. Ted tried to pull away, but they frog-marched him through the crowd.

Ted yelled. “Get your—” was as far as he got. The rest of his sentence was swallowed in a gasp of pain when those fingers jabbed again. He was surrounded by police, lawyers, and various officers of the court, yet he was as vulnerable as a baby.

They thrust him up against the wall opposite the elevators. Not one person, anywhere in the lobby, was looking in his direction; everyone else was staring at the lights over the elevator bank, handicapping which car would be next to arrive empty. The poker-faced man held Ted upright easily while the guy with the boxer’s nose stepped in close, giving himself enough room to swing a fist. It was a short jab—a hook to an inch south of the solar plexus. Ted brought both knees up to protect his stomach. It worked for a nanosecond. The boxer closed in, brushed Ted’s legs aside, and threw another punch, putting his full weight behind it. Ted folded like a damp dishcloth. He thought he was going to die.

The first man spoke in Ted’s ear. “You make mistake, Eddie. I give you good advice, but you don’t take it. You file papers and now people are very upset. Many people.” He slapped Ted’s face. Not hard enough to bruise, but he had Ted’s full attention. “Are you scared now? Good. That is good. You should be.”

“No, no,” Ted whined. “You don’t understand.” He hated the sound of his voice, wheedling and near-hysterical.

“Be a smart guy,” the man said. “Smart guys learn from others’ mistakes.”

He let go of Ted, who slid down the wall holding his guts in place.

They stepped into the crowd and were gone.

-31-

-31-

He had to find Lester. He had to get to the judge’s clerk. The first move, however, was the most difficult. He had to stand.

Was there such a thing as a glass stomach? It seemed he had one. In ten years of wrestling, he’d never had to take a punch. He didn’t ever want to take another. Something felt broken. He pressed his back against the wall and slid upright. He didn’t vomit. That was a victory.

“Are you feeling unwell, sir?”