“Hud, you fuck, it’s a girl,” he muttered following the dog to the car with glum thoughts about nature being all tooth and claw. He had been a fan of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Albert Schweitzer in college and despised violence of any sort. When he neared the car the dog scooted underneath growling and chewing on his prize. He lit a cigarette and reflected that the evening before he hadn’t been a noble enough person to walk away from a fight. He had behaved grotesquely like his dog and his face reddened in the sunny glade at the memory of women screaming.

The untoward event had happened rather early in the evening at the barbecue. He was standing with two flirtatious, middle-aged doctors’ wives watching the cooks broil two hundred chickens using margarine, he thought disparagingly, instead of the butter, garlic, tarragon, white wine, lemon, he favored with chicken. There was a large open bar and an assortment of doctors, medical personnel, and businessmen were downing drinks with surprising alacrity to get their money’s worth. On a dais behind the bar sat the grand machine itself, the Jaws of Life. Warlock imagined its mighty claws freeing innocent children from crushed vehicles. He warmed to the party and could have charmed the pants off the two women if he had wanted to. But suddenly a raucous voice called out his name. It was the auto dealer who had hosted the unpleasant interview, accompanied by two large oafs in string ties who were, no doubt, salesmen. Warlock turned from the women, the setting sun partially blinding him.

“There’s mister fancy-dan jerkoff, boys. We’ll starve that jerkoff out. He’ll hightail it downstate. We’ll keep his wife up here.” He finished with a sequence of hearty yuks.

Warlock’s brain hummed with rage and he glanced around at the appalled spectators who were murmuring their disapproval of the auto dealer. Warlock quickly reflected that he couldn’t hit a man in his sixties. There was a pile of partially thawed chickens waiting their turn on the grill. He carefully selected one and, as a former high school pitcher and American Legion sandlot champ, he hurled a three pound chicken fastball into the auto dealer’s face. The throw poleaxed him. The first salesman oaf charged and was felled by a kick, and the second one wandered in lamely, knowing that he was outfaced. Warlock boxed his ears with cupped open hands, his father having taught him that severe ear pain disarms attackers.

The two women led him away, clucking to everyone his exonerating praise. Diana was furious, but was quickly soothed by the fact that even the most intelligent women love winners. He was brought a succession of whiskey to calm his adrenaline and Diana introduced him to the famed inventor, Doctor Rabun.

“I feel vindicated. That fool swindled me in a car deal. Thank you,” the good doctor had said.