“So you do think ahead.”
“Sure. The difference between you and me is, you plan for the worst, I plan for the awesomest.”
“That’s not a word, you know.”
“Seriously, Maddock, how many beers is it going to take for you to be… human?”
Dane found himself laughing. “Cheers, Bones.” This time, when they clinked their bottles together, it didn’t feel like compulsory behavior. “Speaking of not acting human, what is it with you and defaming your heritage?”
“Defaming?” Bones sat his bottle on the bar and furrowed his brow.
“Yeah. You’re not really what I picture when I think of a Native American. You throw around words that others find offensive, like redskin.”
“I love their football team! I’ve got two or three of their jerseys. Plus the Braves, Blackhawks, the Tarheels…”
“So, you’re from North Carolina, you like teams with Native American mascots, yet you’re wearing a South Carolina jersey?”
“Are you kidding? South Carolina are the ‘Cocks. Those corn-fed South Carolina girls like those big old strong…”
“I get it, I get it.”
“Seriously, though. I do like to shock people and piss them off a little.” Bones paused, spinning the bottle in his hands. “But most folks are too uptight about the whole thing. They’re all gung ho about political correctness, getting their loincloths in a twist. Yet here they are, opening casinos on tribal lands, trying to make a buck. They want people to think they worship the old gods and hold the old ways, but they worship the almighty dollar like the rest of us. They’re so damn serious about getting offended- they’re like you, only with burnt umber skin.”
Dane huffed his amusement. “You’re a deeper thinker than I thought.”
“Lower people’s expectations and it’s easier to take them by surprise.”
They lapsed into companionable silence. Bones amused himself by whistling into the mouth of his empty bottle and looking around the bar. “Hey, Maddock. You remember the advice I gave you about taking it outside?”
“Sure.”
“Good. You’re going to need it, because it looks like that dude finally got up the courage to make something of it.”
CHAPTER 3
“I usually don’t let anybody mess with me when I’m hooking up the ladies,” a familiar voice called from somewhere behind them, “but I just couldn’t get over my shock at seeing my buddy, little Jane Maddock again.”
Dane paused and closed his eyes. It couldn’t be. He stole a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, no way.”
“You know him?” Bones asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. We were at Annapolis together.”
Bones’ eyebrows rose. “Oh ho, an Academy brat.”
“Pretty much. Upperclassman by the name of Paccone. Marc Paccone.”
“Does he like his martinis shaken instead of stirred?”
Dane shook his head. “He was a punk. Big and dumb. Loved to harass the underclassmen.”
Bones nodded.
“Hey Maddock, I’m talking to you.” The voice drew closer.
“He turned out to be a huge bully and a sadist, freaking out a lot of Midshipmen. Word was, he had a connection with a senator, an uncle or something, and he used that to keep people from reporting him.”
“So he was a bully and a coward.”
“Big time. Last I heard, he was assigned to Charlestown.”
Bones blinked.
“Charlestown, as in right around the corner? On board the USS Constitution?”
“Yep.”
“You would think a guy like that wouldn’t get such an honor. I guess the senator hooked him up.”
Dane stiffened as Paccone stepped up to the bar, ignoring Bones as if he were a cigar store Indian.
“You aren’t going to say hello to your old friend, Maddock?”
“I always speak to old friends. Problem is, I don’t see any in here.” Dane turned and met the man’s eye. He forced himself not to wince at Paccone’s toxic breath. It smelled as if the bartender had mixed him a lethal combination of motor oil and Jose Cuervo.
“Come on. You steal my action and don’t even say hello when we haven’t seen each other in so long.” Paccone grinned, the light gleaming off the damp sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Not long enough, Paccone.”
Paccone’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s that supposed to mean? We were best buds.”
“In your soggiest dreams, maybe,” Dane countered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bones cover a laugh by coughing into his clenched fist.
Paccone’s jaw worked and Dane could almost see the gears in Paccone’s mind turning at three-quarter speed. After a few seconds Paccone tensed up and clenched his fists. “Aw, are you still mad that I ragged on you a little? If it bothered you so much, why didn’t you ever stand up to me, Jane?”
“How about,” Bones interrupted, “you go sober up and get a freakin clue, dude? We’re trying to enjoy our drinks, here.”
Paccone paused and turned his attention to Bones, his eyes wide as if he had just discovered the big man’s presence.
“And who the hell are you, peckerwood?”
“Dude, we’ve got to work on your slang. Peckerwood is for rednecks and white trash. You know, people like you.”
“Whatever. Why don’t you keep your big nose out of my business? I think Jane Maddock has a problem with me, but he’s not man enough to do anything about it.”
“Hey,” the bartender called, “we’re not going to have any brawling in here, you got that?”
“Definitely not,” Dane said. “We were just about to step outside.” He’d had enough of Paccone, and it was high time he did something about the years of resentment that festered inside him. He tossed a ten on the bar and motioned for Paccone to lead the way.
“Ladies first.” Paccone made a mocking bow and gestured toward the door.
Dane smiled and led the way out onto the street without another word. They melded into the shadows of one of the side streets, well out of sight of any passers-by.
“Tell your friend here not to jump in.” Paccone rolled up his sleeves and scowled at Bones.
“He won’t.” Dane knew he should be worried about someone calling the cops, or Paccone using his senator connection to screw up Dane’s chances with the SEALS, but he found himself feeling surprisingly relaxed. Apparently, Bones was rubbing off on him, and even that didn’t seem to worry him. He raised his fists, turned slightly, and rose up on the balls of his feet, ready to spring.
Paccone charged in, swinging a wild haymaker that Dane easily ducked. He drove a punch into Paccone’s gut. The man had gone soft around the middle, and he grunted as the breath left him in a rush. He reeled backward, Dane following, peppering him with crisp jabs. Paccone backed into a dumpster, bounced off, and charged forward, his face a mask of crimson from cuts above both eyes and a bloody nose. He tried to grapple with Dane, but Dane grabbed him by the ears, yanked his head down, and drove his knee up into Paccone’s face. Paccone’s knees gave out and he dropped to all fours. A knee to the temple and he was flat on his face.
“Okay, so I took it outside. What’s the next step?” Dane asked.
“Run like hell!”
They dashed down the darkened street, slowing only when they were back on the main drag. No sense in drawing unnecessary attention. Bones got enough of that for being a six and-a-half foot tall Cherokee with a weightlifter’s build.
“Nice job, Maddock. Good thing our fight got broken up as soon as it started. I wouldn’t want you messing up my pretty face.”