“I said move on.”
Decker looked at Mars. “Just head to the car, I’ll deal with these guys.”
Mars looked at Decker as though he had lost his mind.
“Just go, Melvin!”
Mars reluctantly turned to walk off.
The man stepped forward and slapped the back of Mars’s head. Mars slowly turned back around as Decker looked at the man and said, “Do you have a death wish?”
The man said, “I think he’s got the death wish, man. Or he’ll wish he was dead once we’re done with him.”
Decker took a deep breath and glanced at Mars, who looked like a massive bull straining against the gate.
Decker swore again and turned to the man. “What’s your name?”
The man gave Decker a patronizing look. “Why? You gonna write me up?”
“No, I just like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“My name’s Kyle, asshole. And by the way, we don’t give a shit if you’re a Fed. That don’t mean nothing down here.” He opened his jacket to show a gun. “And just so you know, we all got guns too.”
“Okay, Kyle, you want to fight this guy, let’s set some ground rules.”
Kyle snorted. “Ground rules, what the—”
“Shut the fuck up!” roared Decker, who had just reached his limit with these guys.
Kyle froze.
Decker drew a calming breath and tried to pretend he was alone rather than in front of all of these people. He drew his weapon. “Rule number one, anybody pulls a gun, I will shoot you right in the nuts. Rule number two, you have to orally agree to what I’m about to recite.” He took out his phone and activated the video recorder function. Holding it up to capture his image, he said, “Regardless of the outcome of the fight, none of you will attempt to press charges against Mr. Mars for any reason, ever. If one or more of you dies, none of your survivors may make any legal claim, civil or criminal, against Mr. Mars.”
“Are you shitting me?” said Kyle.
“You can’t have a problem with any of that.”
“Why not?”
“Like you said, because he’s a pussy.” Decker pointed his phone at Kyle. “You have to say, ‘I agree.’”
The four other men looked at Kyle. He snapped, “I agree.”
The other men looked at each other and one by one they too said the same thing, but not with the same level of enthusiasm.
“Good,” said Decker. He eyed Kyle. “Now, give me a phone number of your next of kin.”
Kyle said warily, “What, why?”
Decker looked at Mars and then back at Kyle. “Because he’s gonna kill you, dumbass.”
Decker stepped back and nodded at Mars, who stepped right up to Kyle and said, “Throw the first punch.”
“Why?” barked Kyle.
“’Cause I don’t want nobody saying I started this.”
Kyle turned to look at his buddies, quietly mouthing instructions. Then without warning he whirled around and landed a haymaker right on Mars’s chin. Or he would have, if Mars hadn’t easily blocked the blow with his arm.
Kyle screamed and fell back a step. “You broke my damn ar—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, because Mars slammed his fist into Kyle’s face with such force that the man was lifted off his feet and landed unconscious on the pavement.
Kyle’s buddies had all jumped back and now looked down at him. Blood was coming out of his mouth, his nose was broken, and three of his teeth lay on the asphalt next to him.
“Next,” said Decker, looking expectantly at the other men.
The other guys hauled Kyle up and ran for it.
Decker holstered his gun and walked over to Mars. “Let’s go,” he said quietly. They strode to their car, climbed in, and drove off.
Mars rubbed his knuckles and looked out the window.
Decker eyed him and said, “Didn’t make up for it, did it?”
Mars shook his head. “Never does.”
CHAPTER
33
MARS JUST STOOD there for a few moments staring up at it.
The day was dry, the sky clear, and the heat building, though it was January.
He glanced over at Decker. Next to him stood Jamison and Davenport.
Decker said, “You good?”
Mars nodded slightly, his gaze fixed tightly on his old home. They were a foot from the front porch.
“You said you been in it?” said Mars.
Decker nodded.
“What’s in there?”
“Not much. But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is you being here and something occurring to you.”
They had arrived back in town and immediately met with Jamison and Davenport at the motel they had checked them all into. The women had spoken with the local police to find that not a lot of progress had been made. Indeed, now that Mars had been pardoned, it seemed the Texas authorities considered the case closed.
“We did meet with Mary Oliver,” Jamison had told Mars. “Melvin, she’s filed a request with the state for compensation for you.”
“How long will that take?” Mars asked. “I don’t have any money or any job.”
“She wasn’t sure but she did say she filed for an expedited review. She seemed optimistic that you’d receive the maximum allowance.”
“Yeah, twenty-five grand,” he’d muttered before heading out to the car to come here.
Now Decker led the way into the house, the old door’s hinges, broken from when Decker had forced it, giving a torturous shriek. Mars winced slightly as he followed Decker in. The women brought up the rear.
They stood in the front room for a few minutes. Jamison and Davenport looked around, while Decker kept his gaze on Mars.
The man looked frozen, as though he had just been teleported back to the 1990s.
“Take your time,” advised Decker.
Mars went over to the photos on the shelf. He picked up the one of him in his football uniform and stared down at it.
“Walk down memory lane,” said Decker.
“But it’s like this isn’t even me,” replied Mars. He looked at the other photos one by one. “None of these. It’s like they’re all someone else.”
Davenport said, “That’s because your life changed so dramatically, Melvin. Your past has become so detached it’s nearly unrecognizable.”
“So no pictures of your parents?” noted Decker. “Other than the one you mentioned that was taken when you were in high school?”
“Yeah, like I said, they didn’t care for that. That was the only one of them when I was living here.”
“Who took the photo of your parents?”
“I did.”
“Who took all these pictures of you? Your dad or your mom?”
“My mom.”
“Okay.”
“Why?”
“Just wondering.”
They covered the ground floor, Mars stopping and staring at various spots.
Decker said, “You had the shotgun for hunting. Did your parents have other weapons?”
Mars nodded dumbly. “My dad had two pistols. A nine-mil and a forty-five. Pretty pieces. He kept them locked up. But at night he would take one out and carry it up to bed with him.”
“What happened to them?” asked Jamison.