"I'll tell you when it's?—"
Kevin takes a step away from the bar. His elbow catches a glass. It hits the floor and shatters into pieces, and the bar goes fully silent.
The bartender's hand moves to the phone behind the counter.
I see it, and I don't stop him. He's right to call.
I stand up. I just put my feet on the floor and straighten up, and it's the most deliberate thing I've done all night.
Kevin stops mid-sentence.
Then he swings, wide and sloppy, shoulder leading, hips late, telegraphed three seconds early. It's got no aim and no real weight behind it, just frustration looking for a target. Levi steps left without even hurrying, and it catches nothing but air. Kevin stumbles half a step with the momentum of it, almost taking himself down.
Nobody moves to hit him back.
Levi repositions, easy and unhurried, closing the angle between Kevin and the rest of the room.
Austin sets his cue in the rack.
Mason stays at my shoulder.
The front door opens.
Sheriff Palmer walks in first, Deputy Dale a step behind. Palmer doesn't scan the room. He already knows what he's looking for. He isn't a large man, but his presence is bigger than he is. It holds the room's attention without asking for it.
His eyes find Kevin immediately.
"Kevin." His voice fills the bar without effort. "Let's step outside."
"I didn't do anything." Kevin turns toward him, and now he sounds younger. "Ask anybody. I'm just talking."
"You disturbed the peace, you broke glassware, and you took a swing." Palmer's tone doesn't shift by a single degree. "You're going to walk out that door on your own, or I'm going to assist you. Make a choice, and make it quick."
Kevin looks around the room one last time. Looking for a laugh, an ally, one person who'll give him a reason to keep going.
He doesn't find one.
Deputy Dale steps forward, steady and unhurried, and Kevin, finally, mercifully, runs out of steam. His shoulders drop. The performance collapses. He looks smaller than he did twenty minutes ago, and tired in a way that has nothing to do with the drinks.
Dale has him cuffed and out the door in under two minutes.
Palmer looks at me, then at Mason, then at Levi and Austin. He doesn't say anything. Just nods once, slow, like he's taking roll and everyone's accounted for and upright. Then he follows Dale out.
Mason claps a hand on my shoulder. "You good?"
"Yeah."
"He's going to say you started it."
"Let him."
Levi leans against the bar beside me, arms crossed again, back to his natural state. "For the record, you've got five people who'll say different." He glances toward the pool table, where a couple of other patrons are already nodding without being asked. "Six, probably."
Austin reappears with his jacket over his arm. "Anybody want to finish the game, or are we all just going to stand here looking noble?"
We all laugh, and the bar starts murmuring again, then slowly builds back to conversation. Someone feeds the jukebox. The bartender sweeps up the glass.
I sit back down and drink the water the bartender already poured.
