Am I fucking nuts? What the hell was he doing, walking right into a jealous husband’s trap? The bastard might be waiting to blow his damn brains out! Or worse, castrate him! He winced at that unpleasant thought. But as he jabbed the doorbell and stood back to wait, he realized that he would rather take a bullet through the brain than never see Hale again. He waited, wondering if he should have worn a flak jacket to this meeting. From what he remembered of Harry Gregory, he was gonna end up with a couple of busted bones, no matter how good he was with his fists and feet. He just hoped one of them wasn’t his fucking neck! The bastard has been the fastest son of a bitch on two legs in high school, and had the thick head of a mule. He’d seen the man almost go down under half a dozen linemen and tackles in that last homecoming game in Haley’s senior year, and he’d shrugged them off like they were ants, then finished with a fantastic touchdown run of sixty-five yards.
