to assemble a kingdom.
Apparently, Curtis Voss already had one.
I learned his name when somebody whispered it behind me.
He approached carrying a tray of leftovers. His friends watched from another table. The officers in the booth kept watching, too.
Voss stopped at my shoulder.
“New man doesn’t say hello?”
I looked up.
“Hello.”
He wanted more. Submission, an apology, something he could hold up for the room.
I turned back to my dinner.
That was when the tray tipped.
Cold potatoes struck my neck. Gravy covered my eyes. The metal edge scraped the table.
I heard his breathing above me.
He was enjoying the wait.
Rusty emerged from beneath the bench and sat against my legs. A warning rumbled in his chest.
I laid my palm on his head.
“Easy.”
At the next table, Walt stood.
The other two rose beside him.
One of Voss’s friends noticed their
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