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“What’s that mean?”
“Somebody who knew what they were doing took some shots at my boss the other night in the Springs,” Jimmy says.
“She get hit?”
“Just missed.”
“Pity,” Rousselle says.
Now they’re eyeballing each other, hard.
Rousselle says, “You’re saying it was me?”
He’s gotten maybe a step closer. Jimmy’s still on his stool.
“I wouldn’t make you for a back shooter.” Jimmy grins up at him. “But people are always surprising you.”
It has now gotten quiet in the bar, quiet enough that the play-by-play from the set closest to Jimmy is suddenly audible to everybody in the room.
Jimmy stands. Rousselle is bigger and outweighs him. These discrepancies never bothered Jimmy Cunniff, even in the ring.
“You wanna go?” Rousselle says.
“Isn’t your job keeping the peace?”
“Maybe not tonight, it’s not.”
One of the Sag Harbor cops comes over now and says, “Hey, guys. Come on.” And walks Rousselle back to the table.
A half hour later, Rousselle leaves first, walks up Division Street, finally makes the turn into the small parking lot for Jack’s Stir Brew Coffee across from the Sag Harbor station.
He’s pulling his keys out of the pocket of his jeans when Jimmy shoves him hard into the side of his car, grabbing Rousselle’s right arm as he does, pulling it behind him as Jimmy throws a hard, short left hook into his ribs, knowing where to hit him, feeling the air come out of Rousselle as he starts to slide down the car, but doesn’t.
When Rousselle gathers himself and turns around, raising his own right fist, Jimmy steps underneath it and this time tries to put another left hook all the way through Rousselle’s stomach, and sits him down.
When Rousselle can get enough air in him to speak, he says, “I am a cop, remember?”
“Not tonight.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Rousselle says.
“The last guy around here,last,you want to screw with.”
“I think you might have busted a rib,” Rousselle says.
“Only if I’d wanted to.”
“This isn’t over.”
“A reason to live,” Jimmy says, then leans down so he’s back to looking him in the eyes.
Rousselle doesn’t flinch.
“It was you who shot at Jane, wasn’t it?” Jimmy shakes his head in the silence, almost sadly, and says, “Big mistake.”
“You’re the one who just made a big mistake.”
Now Jimmy smiles—he can’t help himself. “Don’t tell me,” Jimmy says. “I just fucked with the wrong Marine.”
