Rescue

bartender took my order for a Coors and served it in a glass, going through Dang’s routine with the ice and water first.
    I sat through two more sets, the band able to mix music from the Rolling Stones to the Allman Brothers to Muddy Waters awfully well and sound awfully good doing it. During the third, closing set, Hawkins let another guy from the crowd come up onstage and use his equipment to do a couple of songs with the group. The other guy was good, and after the second song, he laid the guitar reverentially on its stand. From the audience, Hawkins yelled out, “Hey, man, don’t worry, you can’t hurt that. Hell, I surf with it.“
    The bartender went around for last call, but I passed and made my way back out to the Sunbird.

    I eased into the tree-ringed lot of Pinky’s, the white gravel crunching under the tires, only two other cars and a pickup truck still there. The neon sign went off as I put the car in park. Then I remembered Dawna Adair’s comment about the other boys getting “ideas.“ Driving out again and onto the side street, I positioned the car so I could see between the trees. That way, if she weren’t the next person out, that person wouldn’t dee me.
    A few minutes later, Adair came through the door. The night air was cool, especially so close to the ocean, and she’d pulled a rugby jersey on over the midriff top, a tote-style handbag slung from her shoulder. When Dawna looked around the lot, I could see her take a breath, then kick a stone in front of her shoe, like a disappointed kid kicking a tin can. She crossed her arms, shook her head, and started across the lot, but away from the three vehicles. I got out of the convertible without closing the door.
    Adair was about halfway through the lot when a figure rose up from under one of the trees at its edge. As he hit the moonlit gravel, Dawna stopped cold and started fumbling in her bag as she backed up. He was staggering, but boxing her in, like a quarter horse will a skittish steer.
    It was Jay, the morose guy I’d thrown out earlier. And he was carrying a long-necked beer bottle in his right hand, the fingers holding the neck for hitting rather than drinking.
    With no time to go to the trunk for my gun, I was moving through the tree line as he closed on her.
    Adair was about to speak when I said, “Jay.“
    He turned, eyes raging at something inside more than at me, I thought. “You motherfucker, I’m going to do you good.“
    Dawna had a little spray can in her hand, but I waved her off.
    Then Jay took two slyly quick steps toward me, reached down the hand holding the long-neck, and smashed the beverage part against the lot, giving him a handle and wicked cutting edges as he came for me. Fast.
    I tried to relax, the way I’d been taught in a sawdust pit a generation ago by a sergeant who’d spent his career instructing military police officers in unarmed defense. I let my left foot slide back and my right forward, pointing at Jay. Slightly cupping both hands, I brought them up, elbows in at the width of the shoulders, forearms forty-five degrees to the ground, right hand a little forward of the left. If Jay knew what he was doing, he’d think I was a leftie and might move the wrong way first. If he didn’t know how to use the bottle, I’d be able to tell soon enough to switch positions.
    He knew something.
    Slashing high with the forehand first, Jay missed, then came in low with the backhand. He caught and tore open my pants above the left knee but he didn’t get the leg itself. His momentum combined with the alcohol made him follow through too much, opening his left arm, the one without the bottle in it, to me.
    I sidekicked at the elbow with the ball of my right foot feeling something give as I connected.
    Jay bawled out in pain, dropping the bottle so his right hand could reach for his left arm. “You broke my fucking elbow, man. You broke it!“
    “Hyperextended or dislocated, Jay. I were you, I’d get me to a hospital while medical care can still help.“
    “Fuck you, man! And fuck you, Dawna, you fucking bitch.“
    He got to his feet, staggering away and onto the side street.
    I walked over to Adair, who was still holding the spray can. “Mace?“
    She handed it to me. “Yes.“
    The can felt full as I gave it back to her. “I should have let you use it, but I didn’t think he’d break the bottle over your refusing to serve him in there.“
    Dawna put the Mace in her bag. “Well, I guess it goes a