Alan was only steps away from his house when the stranger blocked his path. The night spent with Diego filled him with the courage to face any threats, and he was returning from his first grocery shopping trip in Coldbrook Bend since the encounter with Lewis. As he climbed out of his car, Alan watched the evening sun spread blood-red fingers across the sky.

Boomer was already snoozing in the living room, so Alan decided to walk a few blocks down his street alone. The weather was perfect for early summer, and the drama in the sky evolved and changed by the second. Alan nearly stumbled over his own feet as he stared up at the colors in the clouds.

He didn’t recognize the man that stepped into his path. The stranger wore dark, almost black jeans, an old University of Minnesota sweatshirt, and a black baseball cap pulled low obscuring his eyes. Alan stepped to the side, and he frowned when the stranger moved as well.

“Excuse me,” said Alan, and he made another move to skirt around the man.

A snarling voice said, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What?”

Alan turned around, and he saw two more men stepping up from behind. A fourth jogged over from the opposite side of the street to surround Alan.

The hairs on his forearms stood on end. Alan was not a fighter. The last time he could remember battling someone else with his body was the time he rolled around wrestling Billy Heston on the school playground in 3rd grade.

“You’re the new guy in town?” asked the man who came from across the street.

“I moved several months ago.”

“The Mexican lover?” asked one of the two behind.

“My private life is private,” grumbled Alan. “What do you want?”

He continued to turn from one man to the other. He kept his eyes open for any apparent weapons, and he wondered if he should yell out or attempt to scream. No guns or knives were obvious, but the man who first stopped Alan slipped a hand into his right front jeans pocket in a threatening gesture.

“Your life belongs to you as long as you meet standards,” said one of the two men who walked up from behind. He pushed his baseball cap back on his head and spoke in a conciliatory tone. Alan noticed that his eyes were sky blue.

“Standards?” asked Alan. “I’m a good man. I pay my taxes. I support local businesses.”

“And you do business with Mexicans.” One of the men spat on the ground.

Alan couldn’t decide whether he should attempt to argue or reason with the men. He wondered if he should try to bolt up the slope of the yard to one side. No one came from that direction, but he knew he was likely to stumble if he tried to navigate the steep slope in a hurry. He tried to calm his fears long enough to think through the situation in a logical fashion.

“Listen,” said the man who spoke about standards. “Eat all the Mexican food you want. Buy your grocery store chicken that was packed by those little Mexican meat packers, but when they start to touch real American jobs, it’s time to back off. Understood?”

Alan did understand what was said, but he didn’t believe any of the reasoning. Alan didn’t know how to be a hero. He only knew how to speak from his gut. Instead of voicing his agreement with the men, he said, “You listen, too. I do business the way I see fit. I save my company money, and I help another company hire more American drivers. It’s a winning strategy for everyone. If you’ll all go home, I’ve got things to do, and I can’t spend any more time out here on the street.”

Alan was shocked by what happened next. The man who first stopped Alan stepped forward and, with alarming speed, he gripped Alan’s right arm and wrenched it up behind his back. He growled, “Let’s show the little prick we mean business.”

Another man pulled a small, shiny blade from his pocket. Alan struggled. His eyes opened wide in fear. He’d never heard of anything happening like this in a small Midwestern town. It only happened in places like Chicago. Maybe it could happen in Minneapolis.

“Should we add a little decoration to that pretty face?” Alan felt the cold steel of the blade resting flat against his cheek.

Suddenly, a stray siren rang through the air. Alan wasn’t sure if it was the police. He thought it might have been a fire truck. A few seconds after the first peal of the siren, Alan heard a familiar sound. Boomer’s hound dog howl echoed through the neighborhood. Fortunately, Boomer rarely shared his full-throated voice, but it was a fortuitous time for him to speak up.

“Fucker, you lucked out,” growled one of the men as they let Alan go and bolted for their cars.

“Learn the lesson!” shouted another.

Alan tried to see license plate numbers as they drove away, but the light was too dim. He was left standing by the curb shivering with little information other than vague ideas of the appearance of the men and the number 73 that was visible on one of the license plates.

The siren faded, but the attackers were already gone. Alan didn’t know how long he remained rooted to the spot on the sidewalk where he stood. As the sky grew dark and the sunset colors faded, he walked up the steps to his house.

Opening his kitchen door, Alan exhaled relieved that he suffered no injuries, and his cash and his wallet were intact. Boomer met him at the door and rubbed against his leg begging for a treat. As he opened the cabinet door, Alan said, “You earned it tonight, buddy. That howl would wake the dead.”

Alan poured himself a glass of wine and collapsed on the living room couch. He considered whether he should call Diego. Then he thought a call to Dak and Brody might be a better idea.

Dak immediately suggested coming over and sleeping on Alan’s couch. “Or you are welcome to sleep on our couch. Brody makes sure the house is immaculate. We’ve got extra sheets and towels.”

“I think I would rather be at home. I doubt that you want Boomer traipsing through your house, but I would be happy to have company. It’s very generous of you to offer.”

Dak appeared in less than twenty minutes. Alan laughed when he opened the door to see his friend with a pillow under his arm and a blanket slung over his shoulder. He said, “Brody sent me with the bare amenities.” Dak pointed at the toothbrush in his T-Shirt pocket.

“I don’t know what I would do without the two of you,” said Alan. “I’m exhausted, and going to a hotel around here didn’t sound any safer. If they wanted to, they could follow me there.”

Dak stretched out his arms, yawned, and said, “Let’s both get some sleep, and you can tell me all the details in the morning. None of our two-bit thugs in this town will mess with me. I probably already beat them up once in high school. Every town has them, and like roaches, they scatter when you shine a flashlight on them.”