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Show Acting Alone Page 6 the place, and so on. He had all kinds of Eastern discipline, a contemporary one-man-army. The Avenger. The Exterminator. Soldier of Misfortune in Hire of the Moral Majority. (When Sam was scared he started effusing orally, just like his older English department colleagues.) But, according to Shannon, who knew about these things, when the oriental discipline guys gave him his fourth-degree black belt they forgot to make sure the bouncer's emotions were disciplined, too, which they weren't. He was not a spiritual guy who did watercolors. He was crazy, a literal killer, apparently. He would bounce a whole tableful of eight or nine people just because among them sat a girl who may or may not have happened to give him a teasing glance on the street once. And all the while he'd be itching to smash any boys in the group. "Just touch me first, touch me first," he'd sometimes mumble, almost pleading. He alienated the students. The only reason the owner didn't fire the bouncer was that he was scared to. And Sam had deftly chosen this shaven-headed leather-wrapped silver-riveted person for walk-mocking. Sam wasn't used to having to be careful whom he mocked. These kinds of bloody guys didn't exist back home among the Mormons. If they came slinking around they were quickly shot or hanged. Someone giant like Sam - even in his indifferent shape - had a free ticket to bully anybody back home. But not anymore, not any more here among the farmers of the Resurgent Right. Shannon let Sam know in no uncertain terms: he'd blown it this time. "Bouncy's got your number," trembled Shannon. |