My heart went out to him, but he was right: he did hit a few bad notes, and sitting in with some other guys would probably do him some good. “What are you drinking?” the bartender asked. “Kamikaze.” When the bartender brought me my drink, I sat and listened to Curtis and them when they came back on for their second set. While I enjoyed their sound, I thought about my circumstances. I had been in Atlanta for a few months now and I had only killed two men. Which was pretty good for me. I have to be honest, part of that was because of what happened to me the last time out. That guy could have killed me, and would have if I didn’t kill him first. That more than anything, has kept me on the sidelines. I keep flashing back to that night and the ass kicking I took at his hands. I trying to remember if there was anything about him that should have told me what he was capable of, but there wasn’t. He was no different from any other prey, until the door to that room closed and he punched me in the face.
