Suit number two quickly yelled, "It's all right. We know this guy. It's just a little family argument!" A big blue gun was pointing directly at Dean's mid section, out of sight of the others by the man's position. "Ain't it, fella? Just a family argument." Dean felt strongly compelled to agree. The man reached down with one hand and pulled his partner to a standing position and nudged Dean forward all in one motion, burying his gun in the detective's side. He firmly pushed Dean toward the door as his partner stum­bled behind him, still in a daze. The whole maneuver took less than a minute and Dean was out the door.

It was in the first wash of light outside that suit-two-blue-gun got a good look at Dean's face. His expression went white. "Holy shit!" he said.

The assailant shoved Dean backwards, sitting him down hard on the concrete sidewalk as his head whacked the wall. Grabbing his wobbly, stumbling partner, the man made a dash for the curb, nearly knocking down Fred O'Connor, who was only steps from the bar. Fred took one look at the situation and took off after the men. They scrambled into a late model blue car parked a few yards away and were starting their U-turn as Fred caught up. The old man grabbed a metal trashcan from the curb and in one motion swung it at the car, scoring a direct hit on the windshield. A million little diamonds of glass showered the inside of the vehicle as it swerved up the street, spinning a track of rubber. The vehicle careened down the block, narrowly missing a mail truck that honked its irri­tation, and sped around the corner before Dean had staggered to his feet.

Fred was still hanging on to the trashcan when the bartender, two painters and Dean, still nursing his head and his elbow, reached him. "I never even got the plate number," he grumbled.

Dean showed his badge and after determining Fred was unhurt, returned to the bar. He called the station and reported the description of the vehicle. "They can't get far with a smashed windshield," he said to Fred as he plopped down in a booth to catch his breath before the police arrived. The rest of the bar, after congratulating Fred and buying him a beer, began to settle back to their routine.

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"Once the guy saw me clearly by the door, he knew my face and all hell broke loose." Dean told Fred once they were alone. "That's about the time you showed up."

"You didn't recognize either of them?"




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