Page 110 of Levi

“There were phones in there, Levi. You grabbed a man by the throat in Tex’s bar and I put my own body between you and a lawsuit. So, you’re going to tell me what that was.”

He’s looking down at the floor.

“There’s video. You get that? By morning there’s video of Lee Streeter putting his hands on a man in a bar, my face in the middle of it. I signed for you at a jail under my name. That connects you to me.”

I wait for an answer. He still gives me nothing. Not a flinch, not a word. Just the top of his head, and his arms starting to come up around himself. The longer it runs, the hotter I get.

When he talks it’s down at the floor. “I know you told me to stay away from there.”

“That’s not what I—”

“You did. Stay the fuck away from there. Those words.” He shakes his head. “And I went back. Three times. Because I liked the people there and I did the exact thing you were scared of. Walked it right into the middle of Tex’s bar, in front of your people, with my face out.” He lets out a long, exhausted sigh. “You don’t have to waste your breath on the talking part. I know how this goes. Call me a car. I’ll go. I’m sorry.”

“Sit down.”

“Dante—”

“I’m not calling a car. Sit down.”

He doesn’t move at all except to back up farther against the wall. We stand there, him braced for the sentence, me unable to hand it down.

I don’t know what I want yet. Only that calling him a car to take him away is not it. Until the answer comes to me, I’m going to keep asking.

“I’m not talking about the bar. Or Tex, or the video, or any of it.” I wait until he almost looks up. “I’m asking one question. And I need an honest answer. Why did you go after that man?”

“Don’t, Dante.”

He glances at the door, takes a step toward it. Damn, he’s going to leave. Car or no car. He’s going out that door. I’m already measuring the distance between me and the door and how fast I can beat him to it.

“One man, Levi. In a room full of men. He puts a hand on my arm and you come across the room with a fist raised. Why that man?”

He stops before he reaches the door. He doesn’t turn back around. But he stops.

“Leave it.”

“Why?”

“Don’t make me—” He’s staring at the floor again. He’s caught between the door and the truth.

“Why?” I ask again. “You owe me the answer.”

“Because I couldn’t sit there and watch him put his hands on you.”

Neither of us moves.

“Explain, Levi.”

“No.”

“Levi.”

“I’m not gonna—” and he lets out a laugh. “You don’t get it, do you? That guy tonight just walked up to you. Sat down. Put a hand on your arm like it cost him nothing, because for him it doesn’t. Worst he’s risking is a polite rejection.” He drops out of the laugh. “It was never that for me. Not once. Other men just reach for what they want. I learned a long time back I can never reach, I keep it folded up tight where it never shows, because wanting was the thing that—”

The sentence just stops. His mouth closes on the rest of it.

He’s a foot from the door. He could be gone in three seconds. Caution warns me not to put a hand on that door yet. Don’t make him feel trapped. I take what he’s handed me, which is already more than he meant to.

“Why did that bother you so much?”