During the conversation, Beau learned Krysti would accompany them as the team doctor, and for the first time he didn’t seem to mind he’d be with the team for the next few months. They ordered another round of margaritas and made plans for the evening. With the meal finished and the pitcher of drinks drained, they agreed to rendezvous farther down the beach. Beau happily volunteered to take Krysti, but first they would get her son, Justin.
From the shadows, Haun and his men watched their departure closely, seeking an opportunity for revenge.
Outside, the night air began to cool, but was still warm enough for them to spend a pleasant evening on the beach. The calm water of the gulf glistened in the brilliant moonlight. Ruben would find a spot, start a fire, and wait for the others to arrive. Only Deberg would not go as he had a priority female engagement.
“Wait, I left my purse near that telephone when I called my son,” said Krysti. “I’ll be just a second.”
“No,” said Beau remembering the three men still inside. “You wait here and I’ll get the purse.” Without waiting for an answer, Beau returned to where he first met her. He saw the three men, and aimed for the long and wide hall leading to the telephone. A savage grin lit Haun’s face.
Beau was relieved when he found the purse next to the telephone. He retrieved it, but when he turned to leave he found Haun and his two friends, Monroe and Lawrence, blocking his path. The only way out was through the three men. Haun had no intention of letting him pass. He had decided to punish the man responsible for his embarrassment.
Drunk earlier, he had sobered immensely during the last few hours. He laughed when he confronted Beau, and slobbered as he spoke.
“You think you’re pretty tough. Whatcha gonna do now, boy?” Lawrence and Monroe slid to each side of the wide hall.
“Doesn’t look like you left me much of a choice,” Beau said, a slight grin crossing his face. “Well Porky, what are you and your sidekicks gonna do? I’m in a hurry and the lady needs her purse.”
Livid with anger, Haun pulled his knife and charged the defenseless figure before him. Beau instinctively spread his legs, bent his knees slightly, gently tossed the purse aside, and prepared for Haun’s onslaught while he watched the other two from the corner of his eye. Deftly he caught the plunging knife hand and delivered a crippling blow to Haun’s huge stomach. Simultaneously, he caught Lawrence with a foot to the groin and sent him stumbling back. Beau wrenched the knife hand up and behind Haun’s back, forcing him to drop the blade harmlessly to the floor. With satisfaction, he twisted the brute’s arm.
Ruben and Kipp arrived on the scene in time to see Beau in complete control of the situation. Mullholland started to help his friend, but Ruben restrained him. He then glanced casually about, found an open case of beer, grabbed the long neck of a full bottle, shrugged his shoulders in Kipp’s direction, and continued watching.
Monroe hesitated, and then mounted his charge, but it was too late. Beau swung, his fist connected, momentarily staggering the man. Again Beau turned his attention to Haun, bringing his knee up into his midsection, and then releasing his arm. As the brute fell to his knees, Beau brought his left fist down hard into the thick bulbous nose, breaking it. Spinning counter-clockwise, Beau caught Monroe in the chest with his left foot, knocking him against the wall. Unconscious, Monroe slid limply down to the floor.
Lawrence, partially recovered, started to move forward when a glass bottle shattered over his head. He tumbled to the floor unconscious. Ruben dropped the remaining neck of the bottle and dusted his hands. As they approached, Beau retrieved the purse from the corner and inspected it.
“Thought you might need some help,” said Ruben. “Hey, did you hurt your hand?”
“Nope,” said Beau casting an almost casual glance around the hall. “Sure hope I didn’t mess up Krysti’s bag. Hell of a thing to do, meet a girl and ruin her purse.”
Alerted to the noise, the manager arrived on the scene with a double-barreled shotgun. “What the hell is going on?” he asked. Instantly Kipp and Ruben raised their hands, while Beau pointed to the three men lying on the floor.
“Sorry for the trouble,” he said, reaching for the billfold in his back pocket. “I’m sure willing to pay for any damages.”
The manager looked around the small storage area, saw Haun and his two men, and then lowered the rifle. “Goddamn that Haun. I swear he gets into more shit. Well, doesn’t seem to be any damage except to those who deserved it. Just glad he didn’t do it in the bar this time. Forget the money, but don’t come back for a while ‘cause ol’ Haun carries a grudge. First time I seen anyone beat the shit out of him like this. He’s gonna be real pissed.”
“Thanks,” Beau and Ruben chimed in.
The manager waved his hand. “Haun has had it coming for a long time. Now get the hell outta here.”
As they made a hasty exit from Shanghai Pete’s, Mullholland shook his head and said, “Mate, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. I thought you might need help. Guess I was wrong.”
“You never can tell. Thanks anyway,” Beau said. “I was just lucky they didn’t know how to fight. Come on, let’s go.”
“Just like old times,” said Ruben.
Beau laughed. “It’s beginning to feel like it. You know, I could use help sometimes.”
“Aw, hell,” snickered Ruben. “I knew you were okay.”
They left the incapacitated trio behind in the secluded hallway. Even the manager returned to the bar, leaving the three alone.
Rising to his knees, Haun held his stomach with one hand and his face with the other, and groaned from the excruciating pain. His lips were cut and bleeding, his nose was broken and dripping blood. Monroe, leaning against the wall, made no movements. Lawrence lay in a fetal position clutching his groin and his head. Shards of glass protruded from his scalp.
Surveying the situation, Haun blinked his eyes in disbelief and anger. “One day we will meet again. The woman will pay for this. I swear it!” Then a sudden stab of pain forced him on his side.
Outside, the darkening skies cut the heat, but the early evening gulf breeze was still warm and muggy. Along the water’s edge, two large sand crabs were locked in mortal combat over a morsel of food stolen from Shanghai Pete’s.
Beau gave Krysti her purse. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” she said.
He smiled, and gazing into the stirring green eyes said, “No trouble.” Then he motioned to Ruben and the others. “Let’s go.”
Everyone moved to their cars. Beau escorted Krysti to his Corvette and helped her in. A few minutes later they were rolling down the beach. Beau fumbled with the knobs of the radio, still intrigued with Krysti’s slight accent.
“Say, what are you?”
“What am I?” She was stunned for a moment, and then responded. “A woman?”
“I mean what nationality?”
The accent returned with a haughty retort. “I’m American!”
Now Beau fumbled with his words like he did the radio stations. “I’m sorry, it’s just your accent is so intriguing. I just can’t place it.”
“And what are you, may I ask?”
Beau felt stupid. “Touché. I’m American.”
Krysti laughed. “My father was born in El Paso but raised in Argentina. My mother is from Mexico. I was born in Monterey, raised in El Paso, went to Texas Tech, and finished my medical training in Houston at Baylor’s College of Medicine. I’m probably more Texan than anything.” Krysti flashed her exotic green eyes and giggled. “Again may I ask, what are you?”