Chapter 4: Thugs In Town

"Don't spout nonsense!" Damon glared at Marie, jaw clenched. "Mrs. Marie, out of respect for your age, I'm letting this slide. Otherwise..." "Otherwise what?" Marie gave a cold smile. "Damon, what's wrong with Astrid? She's loaded, she likes you. Count yourself lucky."  "Honestly, I think you want to marry your sister. Everyone knows Ailee's a girl you found and took in. It's not a secret." She said it as if it were a fact. Damon's face darkened. Marie went on, "What, still playing dumb? If you don't believe me, ask around. Then go and marry your sister." She turned on her heel and walked out. Damon ground his teeth. His scowl deepened. He felt maybe Marie was telling the truth.  Even so, he needed to ask someone else. Just then, an engine rumbled to a stop outside. A beat-up three-wheeled vehicle clattered to a halt out front. A big voice boomed, "Damon! You bagged a wild boar? It's huge!" Damon snapped out of it and called, "Stefan, get in here." His childhood friend Stefan ducked inside.  He was tall and broad-shouldered, the kind who filled a doorway.  He and Damon had always been close. Stefan did whatever Damon said, no questions asked.  He had bought a three-wheeled vehicle that had passed through who knows how many owners. He usually hauled goods around town.  In a small town, there wasn't much to haul, so most of the time he bounced between odd jobs. Stefan came in laughing.  "Damon, you're something else! Why don't we take the boar to town early and sell the meat? I'll call around, get more people to come buy the wild boar!" "Shut the door," Damon said under his breath. Stefan blinked, closed it, stepped to Damon's side, and whispered, "What's up? You dropped a boar this big, and you still look pissed off. What's eating you?" "I'm asking you," Damon said, fixing him with a look.  "Have you heard anything about Ailee?" "Huh?" Stefan stared. "What could be up with Ailee?" "Keep your voice down." Damon's eyes narrowed.  "I'm asking if you've heard anything. If you have, say it. But keep it quiet." Stefan scratched his head.  "How am I supposed to answer that? I haven't heard anything. Ailee's fine, her grades are great, and she's kind too, she..." "Have you heard anything or not?" Damon's voice went icy. Marie had just claimed everyone knew. How could that be?  He needed to see what Stefan knew. "What would I have heard?" Stefan glanced at him.  "How would I know anything about Ailee? Tell you what, why don't we start cleaning this boar? I'll help you haul it to town and sell it." Damon drew a long breath. Forget it.  This wasn't the right moment to dig.  He'd take his time and get to the bottom of it. It had rattled him. His thoughts were a mess. He looked at Stefan, inhaled again, and said in a low voice.  "Let's clean the boar first. After we sell it, you take a third." Stefan's eyes lit up. He rubbed his hands together.  "Damon, that's too generous. I can't take that. How about you pay me less? A third is really..." "Take it if I tell you to take it." Damon shot him a look.  "Stick with me and you'll do well. Quit worrying. We're going to make a fortune." "Yeah!" Stefan was fired up.  "Damon, we're going to make a fortune!" "All right, let's get this boar cleaned up." Damon brought out a butcher's knife, a scraping knife, and the rest of the gear.  Stefan hurried to build a fire and boil water.  When the big pot came to a boil, they scalded the bristles and began scraping. Stefan was the muscle, and work like this usually came easier to him than to Damon.  But this time he stared, floored.  Damon moved quicker than he did, and cleaner too.  It was grunt work, yet Damon scraped the boar's bristles off easily. With Damon working like a machine, they had the bristles off in no time.  Then they split the boar and cleared the entrails with brisk efficiency.  Each shouldered a side of the boar and heaved it onto the three-wheeled vehicle.  They bagged the offal and set off for town. They pulled up outside the market and started selling the boar right off the vehicle.  Stefan did the shouting.  Damon was already in a foul mood, so he sat to one side and kept his mouth shut.  Stefan bellowed until the air shook, and soon a crowd gathered.  He was deft with the knife, cutting meat and chopping bone, and the boar sold out fast.  Before long, they had sold about half. That was when two brawny men shouldered in. "Make way!" They swaggered in, and the crowd flinched and backed off to give them space. "Who told you you could sell here?" one of them demanded, glaring at Stefan.  He planted his right foot on the three-wheeled vehicle. Stefan froze. "Troy, it's me, Stefan."  He forced a grin and reached into his pocket for cigarettes.  He pulled out a pack and was about to offer it to the two bruisers. Troy flicked his wrist and knocked the cigarettes away.  "Who the hell knows you? Cut the crap! This is my turf. You sell here, you pay protection money." Stefan's face drained of color.  He mumbled, "Troy, we... we.." Damon was already in a foul mood. He cut in, voice cold.  "Troy, who gave you the guts to demand protection money?" "Oh, it's you!" Troy acted as if he had only just noticed Damon, then smiled.  "So it's Damon Barlow. I didn't spot you earlier." There wasn't a shred of respect in his smile. Damon's face hardened.  "Troy, this boar is mine. I'm only going to say this once. Are you gonna scram or what?" Troy burst out laughing.  "Didn't you listen to whatever your sister says? Not running the streets anymore? What, you planning to hit me?" Back when Damon had joined the thugs, Troy hadn't been in his league.  He had to curry favor with Damon.  After Damon announced he was done with that life, Troy slowly started looking down on him.  Now that he had a chance to humiliate Damon, he wasn't about to let it pass. "Depends on whether you're begging for a beating," Damon sneered. "Come on then." Troy stepped right up to Damon and lightly patted his own cheek.  "Right here. Hit me! If you don't, you're not a man. I'll give you a chance. If you actually hit me, I'll still call you a guy." Damon raised his hand, wound up, and let it fly. Smack!