“How so?” Tiffany asked, then realized she was talking to the back of Doc’s head.
That individual was craning his neck, trying to get a better look at the scene that was unfolding a few steps away where his son had been stopped by one of the Legionnaires waiting in line for a drink.
“You look pretty young to be a Legionnaire, sonny.”
Unruffled, the youth shrugged.
“The casting director-I mean, the lieutenant-didn’t seem to think so,” he said easily.
“Oh yeah?” the Legionnaire sneered. “Tell me … have you ever killed a man?”
“No,” the youth admitted. “But I almost did once.”
“Really?” his challenger said, clearly taken aback by the unexpected answer. “What happened?”
“I almost ran over him with a forklift.”
There was a few seconds’ pause, then the Legionnaire flushed a bright red.
“Are you trying to get cute with me, kid?”
“Take it easy there, hoss,” Doc said, stepping forward to drape an arm around his son’s shoulders. “He was just trying to answer your question truthfully. You don’t have to worry about him pulling his own weight, either. He does his job as well as the next man, and better than most. Here, I’ll show you.”
With that, he made a fist with his free hand and suddenly launched an overhand punch into his son’s face. There was a painful smack of flesh hitting flesh, and the youth went sprawling.
All conversation in the room ceased as abruptly as if it had been recorded background noise and someone pulled the plug.
“Jeez!” the wide-eyed Legionnaire gasped, staring at the figure on the floor. “What’d ya go and do that for? I was just-“