Blonde hair, bold cheekbones and sculpted arms. Facing three guns held by characters clearly intent on no good, he smiled. Bright white teeth shone with iridescent highlights. Behind him, the spotlight on the Wind Walker snapped off, leaving him lit by Alfredo’s light, like an actor on stage all alone. He held his hands up. “Guys, I’m Karl Norman.” Defying possibility, he smiled even wider. Even brighter. “Just give us the girl and we’ll call you a tow. No hard feelings.” He waved his hands at the guns as if waving off a fly. “I won’t say anything about those.” Most of the time, late afternoon Gulf Coast storms don’t last long. The wind that had been strong as soup was already weakening and the moon shone through the clouds. As the air calmed, I smelled dead fish and the sweat from the men around me. I peeked back at Alfredo and saw him wave his rifle. “You mean this little thing?” He pointed the gun at Karl. “You won’t say anything, pollo, because you’re scared by my friend here.”
